


Marking Time

by Evil_Little_Dog



Series: Marking Time [3]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon - First Anime, Multi, Original Characters - Freeform, Sexual Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-05-16
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-09 12:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 38
Words: 145,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/87513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Evil_Little_Dog/pseuds/Evil_Little_Dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary:  A treacherous trick leaves Al and Winry on the run from the military and Edward kidnapped and presumed dead, in danger of losing his innocence, his self-respect and his life.<br/>Disclaimer:  Hiromu Arakawa owns all.  I’m just futzing around.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to D. M. Evans for the providing the impetus to write this thing, whether she realized it or not. Hee. Thanks also for the late night discussions, edits and fun medical knowledge – not to mention…well. We just won't mention that.
> 
> Also many thanks to Silvrethorn, who came up with the summary. Obviously, she's the 'go-to' woman for this sort of thing.
> 
> A.N. 2: This is considerably darker than the rest of the stories that I've written for FMA. 
> 
> A.N. 3: Alternate reality starts around episode 40 of the anime series, Fullmetal Alchemist (2003 version). Yeah, yeah, yeah.

* * *  
Chapter 1

* * *

The battlefield reverberated with the sounds of explosions and gunfire. Through the haze of gunpowder and smoke, Edward could just make out the sight of troops, advancing on the city. Tanks roared forward, charging toward the enemy. Ed snarled. That wasn't the way to kill the homunculi. They shrugged off bullets; explosions might not even knock them out.

"Brother, what are you going to do?" Alphonse's voice rang out from behind him.

"Stop this," Ed said, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"But how?"

"I'll finish what Scar started." He glanced up and over his shoulder. "The array. It's all laid out."

"Brother, there are people in the city," Alphonse said, horrified.

"Rose led them out. Everyone human is gone," Ed promised, "even Scar and Lira." The Ishbalan man and the alchemist had been reluctant to leave. It had taken some fancy talking and persuasion in the form of a rock to their heads, actually, but Ed wasn't telling Alphonse that. "Which leaves just them." His lip curled at the thought of the homunculi.

"But how can you be sure?" Al asked. "Brother?"

"Just follow my lead, Al." He waved his brother to come along. "We've got to make this quick."

It seemed like a surprisingly simple idea to Edward; get the humans out of the city; leave the homunculi behind – before the soldiers could make their way into Lior. So what if Scar came up with it, Ed meant to capitalize on the idea. "Al, I'll meet you in the town square. Be careful."

"Brother, I don't like this plan." Alphonse hesitated, half hidden behind a broken-down wall. "I think we should stay together."

"Trust me, Al. I'll be there." He rapped a knuckle on Alphonse's chest plate, causing it to boom softly. "Just be careful, okay? Stay out of sight."

"You be careful, too, Edward," Alphonse said in a warning tone.

"I'll be fine." Ed grinned, flipping a wave at his brother. "I promise." He waited until Al moved off, keeping to the cover of the buildings before turning his attention back to the approaching troops. "Can't let you interfere this time," he said softly and started back out of the town. When he reached a good distance away, Edward clapped his hands together, directing the alchemic blast toward the ground and the burnt out rubble. A wall built itself in front of him, spreading to his right and left, effectively blocking the way into the town. "There," he said, satisfied. The military would now have to blow the wall up before they could get inside. Not that it would really slow down someone like Armstrong but Ed thought it might give him a little more time to try out his plan.

He ran back towards the city, keeping a low profile. Ducking into a crumbling building, Edward climbed to the roof, trying to get a good look at what was going on around him. Out on the field, the tanks had stopped moving forward, concentrating their fire on his wall. Ed nodded in satisfaction. "That'll keep them busy for a little while." He turned to climb back down.

"Don't leave on our account." The voice was low and throaty and carried just a hint of a laugh in it.

Ed hissed angrily. He hadn't expected to run into the homunculi so soon in the game. "Lust," he said. "Where's your hungry friend?"

She folded her arms, giving him a placid smile. "Taking care of that wall you put up."

"Big as it is, it ought to take him a little time," Ed said and dodged sharply, feeling another approach. "You, too?"

"Well, well. It's the Fullmetal Pipsqueak." Envy tossed his hair back, a slow, cruel smile curling his mouth. "Fancy meeting you here."

"I was actually hoping to find you," Ed said, his own grin as deadly.

"You don't just get to deal with us, you know," Lust said. "Sloth so wants to talk to you; thank you for bringing her to life."

"I'll have to remember to tell her I'm sorry about that," Ed said, coldly, hating being reminded of his failure.

"Really?" Envy cocked his head, hair shifting to that side. "She's pretty happy about it. As happy as she can be, that is." He smiled toothily. "Enough with the chit chat, shrimp. Let's get down to it."

"I was hoping you'd say that," Edward said, smiling back.

Hands on his hips, Envy said, "Oh, you'd willingly attack me. But what about this form?" His figure transformed into one a little smaller, younger. Sweet brown eyes stared at Ed and he gasped, recognizing them.

"A-Al."

In a voice that was almost a perfect replication of Alphonse's, Envy said, "Big Brother? You wouldn't be planning anything naughty, would you?"

"You're not fooling me this time, Envy," Ed snarled. He clapped his hands, transmuting his automail arm. A blade appeared from it, covering his wrist and fist.

"Oh, damn," Envy said in Al's voice.

Ed leaped aside as Lust's claws shot out, nearly spearing him. "Is that all you got?" he asked. "Distract me with a familiar face and then attack?" He chopped his blade through Lust's claws. She yelped and lunged back, her pretty face curling into a scowl.

"Quick, aren't you?" she asked.

"Not as quick as me." Envy leaped forward, kicking Edward in the face. He rocked back, not quite losing his balance but his hand hit the ground. Using that momentum, Ed flipped his body over his hand, managing to avoid Envy's foot, sweeping over him. By the time he landed on his feet, Lust was rushing in, slashing at him with her claws. He blocked her blow on his metal arm, gritting his teeth at the pressure. If he broke another arm, Winry would kill him.

"Not bad," Envy said.

"I've been practicing," Edward replied. He heard a hollow boom behind him and knew the wall was coming down. Time to put the plan into action for real, before everything went to hell. "Or maybe I'm just keeping you two occupied."

"Oh, no, Fullmetal," Lust said in her honeyed voice. "You want to kill us."

With a feral grin, he reached into his jacket, pulling out a locket with a blue stone. "Right again," he said, showing it to Lust. "Scar didn't really want to give it up but I persuaded him. I think he wanted to be the one to kill you."

The homunculus fell back, recognizing the pendant. Her body swayed and her skin, already pale, turned moon white. Envy, still in Al's form, curled his mouth, launching a new attack at Ed. "I don't know how you did that but you're not going to get away with it."

"I think I already did." Ed took a leap backwards, landing lightly on the balustrade running around the roof of the building. With a cocky wave, he jumped off, not waiting to find out if Envy would follow him. He already knew that answer.

Tearing through the city, Ed heard two enraged voices – Gluttony always seemed to know when something was happening to Lust and Envy was going to make sure that any other homunculi within shouting range were aware that he was in Lior. Not that it made any difference. Edward knew what he had to do. Putting on a burst of speed, he ducked under an archway, wondering just what it was doing in a desert town. The square was ahead, where Cornello had preached to his faithful, where the Sun God Leto had gazed down from a monolith. Where people had died for their religion.

"Another reason God hates me," Edward muttered to himself, peering out at the square from under cover of a pile of rubble. "I'm not going to die for him." He caught sight of Alphonse's armor and he shuddered. Seeing the homunculus mocking Al's human body hurt more than he wanted to think about. And how had Envy found out about Al, anyway? Who knew what Alphonse looked like, besides him?

A chill, like an icy finger, ran down Edward's spine. "Winry," he breathed, his eyes glazing over. He'd taken such care to keep her safe – how had the homunculus known? He slammed his flesh fist against his thigh, the pain forcing the thought into his head – his own military records would list the name and address of his automail mechanic. Envy could impersonate anyone; he could've gotten into the records. "Damn it!" Fury built in Edward, making his body shake. If Envy had hurt Winry –

The whistle caught his attention, breaking through his murderous thoughts. Edward tilted his head back, mouth dropping open as he saw the missile dropping out of the sky. Whoever commanded the troops wasn't taking any chances.

Realization came a second too late and Edward flung himself out from behind the rubble, screaming, "Al! Al, get out of the way!" He clapped his hands as he moved but the blast caught him up and flung him back, slamming him into a wall. He slid down the roughened surface, leaving a trail of red behind.

Slowly his eyes opened, staring dazedly at the hole in the earth where there once had been a town square. His thoughts scattered like chickens when a hawk flew overhead. Something important, he was to do something; that much he remembered. It hurt to breathe, hurt to even attempt to move but he knew he had to. It was too dangerous to lie here, whether he could remember why or not.

Gasping in agony, he managed to pull himself partially upright, resting his weight heavily against the wall behind him. His hand planted in a streak of red, he wasn't aware when he smudged it, leaving behind a print on the wall. He staggered a couple of steps forward, nearly falling but somehow keeping his balance. Nothing looked right; everything was fuzzy and strange and damn it, it was so hard to breathe; so hard to move.

Teeth bared, he persevered, stumbling over the fresh rubble. The haze of dust hanging heavily in the air made him labor for each breath; wracked his body with coughs. He knew he needed to make it to the middle of the square, despite the hole. Despite everything, he was going to finish this, once and for all.

"Thought you could get away from us, didn't you?" The voice was cheery and deadly and he ignored it completely. "Hey!" The sound of running feet came from behind him and something rammed into his back, sending him sprawling.

"You hurt my Lust," someone singsonged evilly. "I'm going to hurt you." A rotund creature landed near his head, a pair of huge hands flexing in promise.

"C'mon, pipsqueak, surely you aren't gonna let a little thing like an explosion slow you down." Someone else moved into his view and he blinked, trying to focus on pale hair that suddenly streamed down to frame a girl's face. He had a feeling he should know that face, that it meant something to him even though she shouldn't be here, not now.

"Too dangerous," he managed to get out.

"Maybe for you." It wasn't the girl. Her voice was never so cruel.

"I'm going to eat you slowly, slowly," the rotund creature said, showing broad white teeth.

Somehow, he managed to get to his feet again though he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to stay there. The world kept moving in different directions, showing him things that he couldn't be sure were true. Everything ached and he just wanted to lie down and never move again but he still had that final task to accomplish. Shambling towards the rotund thing, he clapped his hands together almost by rote, a touch sending a pile of rock straight through the creature's gut. It screamed as the rock spear carried it away.

"You just keep going," the girl said, following close behind him. He could hear her footsteps on the rubble, kicking stones out of her path. Some of them struck him, stinging. "You could lie down here and die, you know that."

"No." The word was accompanied by a headshake and he realized that was a bad move. The world spun around him dizzyingly, nearly sending him to the ground. "Gotta…gotta do this." Something gleamed dully ahead, a piece of metal. It looked oddly familiar. He swam towards it, keeping his eyes fixed on that glint.

"With those wounds, you aren't gonna last anyway. I should put you out of your misery right now." The girl's voice was lilting and hostile and he could just see her through a red haze in the corner of his eye. "But it might be fun to watch." Her smile broadened maliciously.

He kept moving, wrapping an arm around his middle. It felt like something was trying to climb out of his ribs through his throat. Coughing, he spat blood, leaving a bright red spatter on the ground. The girl danced away and he wondered at it. She'd seen blood before and it had never bothered her.

"So much effort, squirt. Why don't you just give up?" She pattered next to him, leaning close into his face so he could feel the breath of her words against his cheek. "Just lie down and die already."

"I can eat him," came a wheezy voice from his other side.

"No, Gluttony, let's watch. He's going to fall any second now."

They were probably right. If he collapsed, he wasn't sure if he'd be able to get back up again. And he had to. He had two legs; he was going to keep going forward on them. That's why…that's why he had two legs; why he'd begged for metal, metal that was in front of him and so close now, close enough to touch.

He sank to his knees, no longer able to hold himself upright, crawling the last little bit to the metal. Somewhere inside of him, he recognized it as armor; armor that had been battered before but usually gleamed. Armor that protected a person, a soul. He could hear a whispering sound and cocked his head, wincing as everything around him tilted oddly. The name came unbidden, spilling out of his mouth. "Al?"

"Brother?"

He wanted to groan at the tentative reply. "It's me, Al." Edward, my name…he blinked, comprehending that the armor was mostly buried under rubble, smashed; crushed. Something inside of him snapped at that realization, stiffening his spine, making him throw off all his own pain. "Al," Ed said urgently, "Alphonse!"

"…Brother." Al's reply came like a sloughing of the wind, almost as distant and Edward knew that something had happened to the blood seal that held his brother's soul pinned in the armor.

"Don't leave me, Al, please don't leave me," he said, digging into the rubble with his hands. The sharp bits of rock cut into his flesh hand but he didn't realize it, trying to uncover Alphonse. "Stay with me!"

"Aww, what's wrong? Lose something in the blast?"

A reddish glow, one of Alphonse's eyes, seemed to flicker like a candle. He asked, horrified, "Win…ry?"

"It's not her, Al," Ed said, turning around, his back against the shell of metal. "The homunculi are here."

"You remembered us, how nice," Envy said with Winry's mouth.

Ed wasn't sure which bothered him more, Envy appearing as Alphonse or Winry. "If you think I won't hurt you because you look like her," he snarled, wiping the blood off his chin with the back of his hand, "you've got another thing coming."

"This?" Envy's hand skimmed over the form he'd appropriated. "I thought you might like a chance to say goodbye before I kill you." A mocking smile curling his mouth, he leaned over, putting his hands on his knees and sneering in Edward's face. Slashing up with his blade, Ed forced Envy to leap backwards. The homunculus landed lightly. "Naughty, naughty," he said, wagging a finger.

"He looks tasty," Gluttony said, running a tongue over his mouth.

"Al, you're still with me, right?" Ed patted the metal curve. "Al?" His breath hitched in his chest. "Alphonse?"

"Oh, boo hoo, the metal one's gone," Envy said, pretending to scrub his eyes.

"Al?" Ed heard the panic in his voice as if it belonged to someone else. He turned his back on the homunculi, ignoring their threat as he tried to reach his brother. "Alphonse! Talk to me! Damn it, Al, you can't leave me here alone!" Thumping the armor, he heard it boom softly. "Al!"

"I can eat him, right?"

"I don't care, Gluttony."

The red haze seemed to come over Ed's entire vision. "Al?" he whispered, knowing it was too late, that he'd lost his brother again. Behind him, something giggled, something approached. The thought slipped through his mind that Winry really would kill him if she knew what he was going to do. Beneath his knees was part of Scar's array. He could see the pattern as if it was engraved on his eyelids. "Forgive me," he whispered, not even quite sure to whom he spoke as he clapped his hands together, dropping his palms onto the array.

The glare flared up like lightning and Edward heard a scream, more than one. He felt a blast of pain ripping through him, tearing at every nerve. He poured everything he was into the array, reached deep inside himself and even further, seeking that last bit of self he could offer. The shriek was louder, as if it was right beside him. Edward ignored it as he ignored the pain, as he ignored the darkness that swarmed him, trying to drag him away. He gritted his teeth, never knowing if the blood he tasted was fresh or had come from a previous wound. He would persevere; he would bring Alphonse back.

"Al!" he screamed –

\- and the world faded away.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

* * *

"Sir, you should wait." Colonel Mustang raised a hand, as if he could stop Fuhrer Bradley by force.

"I think I'll be fine, Colonel." Fuhrer Bradley glanced at the crumbled wall, dust and grit still rising on the wind. Men worked hurriedly to clear a path through the rubble left over from the failed barricade, Armstrong and Kimbley proving handiest at blasting the remains out of the way. "It looks like the fireworks are all over."

"But, sir," Colonel Mustang said, frowning.

"Nonsense. How would it look if I send my men in where I fear to tread?" Grinning, he tugged his hat down tightly. "Don't worry. I'll have Colonel Archer with me, eh, Colonel?"

"Sir." Archer came to attention, not quite hiding the curl of his mouth at the glitter of rage in Mustang's eyes.

"Right then. You go ahead and take the east side of the city, Colonel Mustang. Make sure that any insurgents are dealt with."

"Yes, sir." Mustang saluted, his face grim.

"Be careful, Colonel. I'd hate to have to replace you," Bradley said. Turning to Archer, he said, "Ready, Archer?"

"Yes, sir."

"Excellent. Lieutenant Douglas?"

"Yes, sir?"

"You're coming along with us." He exchanged a look with the homunculus. She saluted with the same correctness of the rest of the troops. Sloth had been well trained, something that Bradley appreciated. "Let's move out." Bradley nodded at Archer, allowing him to lead the way through the recently-made opening. It wasn't that he was worried; he was quite sure of the progress inside the city of Lior. But it wouldn't do to get wounded, not now. Not when there were so many eyes on him. There were always ways of getting out of such situations; misdirection was something Bradley was very good at, after all. But it was so much easier to not have to come up with excuses.

The city was even worse rubble than Bradley had expected. He didn't really care; Lior had been scheduled for destruction but he'd hoped to have more of a hand in it. "Archer, just who did you send into Lior for recon?"

"Fullmetal, sir." Archer's eyebrow raised. "I don't think that he could've done all this by himself, though."

Bradley chuckled. "Fullmetal is a man of many surprises, Colonel." He glanced at Sloth, whose eyes lowered in agreement. "Did he report back to you?"

The colonel's jaw tensed. "No, sir."

"Then it might be safe to assume that he's the one who raised the wall."

Sloth's head came up at that. Bradley gave her a nod, knowing as soon as she was able; she'd slip away from him and try to locate either Fullmetal or the other homunculi.

"Safe, yes, sir," Archer said through gritted teeth, obviously thinking over the possibility that Fullmetal had effectively cut him out of a promotion.

"Well, then. I suppose we should find the hero and congratulate him on subduing Lior without losing any of my men." Bradley gestured at Archer. "Let's split up, Colonel. I'm sure that Lieutenant Douglas and I will be fine."

"But, sir." Archer didn't like that idea.

"We'll be fine, Archer. You can take some of your men to the west side of the city. We'll continue towards the center."

"I should assign you some men, Fuhrer," Archer said, trying to regain some sort of control over the situation.

"You don't think I can take care of myself, Colonel?" Bradley managed to maintain his cheerful smile. Sloth, slightly to his left, eyed Archer as she might look at an obstacle to overcome. "Don't worry. If anything should happen to Lieutenant Douglas or me, I hereby absolve you of it." He thumped a hand on Archer's shoulder. "Lieutenant?" He started off, hearing Sloth fall in behind him.

As soon as they were out of earshot of Archer and his patrol, Bradley said, "I want this to be quick. Fullmetal's brother was with one of the chimera earlier." He pointed to his eye patch. "She saw something she shouldn't have and I had to take care of her. But I don't know that she didn't have a chance to tell the brother what she saw. The fact that we haven't seen a suit of armor wandering around makes me believe that Alphonse may have followed Fullmetal into Lior."

"Understood," Sloth said. "I'm sure Wrath will be able to sniff him out." She released longhaired boy from his hiding place in her body. "Wrath, find Edward Elric." She touched the human arm of the child.

"He's here," Wrath whispered through sharp teeth. "He's made so much trouble."

"Just find him," Bradley ordered. "Make sure you stay out of sight, though." He tapped the boy's chest with a finger. "I don't want to have to kill any of my men that we don't have to."

They parted ways, able to cover more ground separately than together. Bradley could hear sounds of his troops searching through the city. They were quite enthusiastic about it from the explosions. He only hoped that he found what he was looking for before any of his men did. It could be a problem if, say, Archer was to run across Fullmetal before he or Sloth did. That worry alone was enough to make Bradley pick up his pace.

The town square was reduced to so much rubble; metal rods twisted and statues broken into so many pieces. A still-smoking crater took up much of the square. Bradley glared at the alchemic array still laid out on the ground. That was Scar's doing. The Ishbalan had set up the pattern; that much Bradley was aware of from previous surveillance reports. Edward Elric had simply taken advantage of the situation.

"Not that there's anything wrong with that, Fullmetal," Bradley said to himself, "just that it needs to be done at a certain time and place." He caught sight of a body and moved quickly across the square. It looked almost as if Gluttony had been imploded. Bradley avoided the mess. "How in hell did you do this, Fullmetal?"

Wrath raced into the square, eyes wide in fear. "Lust is gone!" he said, skidding to a stop in front of Bradley.

"So is Gluttony," Bradley said, nodding at the remains. "Did you find Fullmetal?"

"Yes." Wrath took off, leading Bradley through the square. They passed what had to be Envy. "How did he do this?"

"That array must've augmented his transmutation far beyond normal. Probably a good thing we weren't in Lior when he did this or we might've wound up looking like that." He waved at the bodies behind them.

"Here," Wrath said, pointing.

A figure sprawled in the rubble, blood-soaked hair a halo around his head. Bradley stared down at Fullmetal. "You've caused me a lot of trouble," he said.

Wrath trembled with fury, reaching out to the boy. "I want his body."

"Don't touch him," Bradley snapped as Sloth appeared. He waved her over. "Look what Wrath found."

Sloth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What do we do with him?"

Bradley smiled, running a thumb across his moustache. "Make him a hero."

The homunculi glanced at each other then nodded, Wrath reluctantly. "The same thing as before?" Sloth asked.

"Except," Bradley knelt next to Fullmetal, "We're not letting him have these." He disengaged the boy's automail limbs and tossed them against a wall. The wall collapsed on top of the automail. Pulling the watch out of Fullmetal's pocket, Bradley smashed it between his hands. "There. We'll need something to identify that the boy was actually here." There was a shout and the trio exchanged a glance. "Come on. Let's get the boy out of here. We don't want to have to explain anything."

Hefting Fullmetal, he strode quickly into the shadows of the building, following Wrath's unerring nose, Sloth trailing close behind.

* * *  
"Colonel, stay behind me," Lieutenant Hawkeye said, peering around the corner of a half-destroyed building. They'd made it this far inside the wall and had seen no signs of life. That didn't mean someone wasn't watching and she wasn't about to take a chance. "It could be dangerous."

"Lieutenant, I want to know where the Elric brothers are," Mustang said through gritted teeth.

"And we'll find them, sir," Hawkeye said. "But we'll do it in a safe and controlled manner. Now, stay behind me or I will shoot you in the foot."

"You know she'd do it, Boss." Havoc's smirk did nothing to salve Mustang's irritation.

"Lead the way, Lieutenant." He chafed at the restrictions but understood Hawkeye's caution. It had saved his life before and he usually paid heed when she gave him warning. Still, he knew the brothers were somewhere in Lior. Alphonse had managed to sneak away, something Mustang still didn't comprehend. How could a suit of armor, something that large, made of metal, even be able to sneak? But where one brother was, the other was sure to be and Mustang could only hope that Kimbley didn't find them first. The pardoned alchemist wanted his revenge on Alphonse and Mustang was not about to let that happen.

The city was eerily quiet, the sounds of the military's search echoing around what remained of the buildings. The wind whistled through gaping windows and doors. "This creeps me out," Havoc said, keeping a close eye on the tops of what buildings still had roofs.

"What's really scary is you without a cigarette," Fuery said.

"Aren't you the funny one," Havoc said, narrowing his eyes at the junior officer.

"Keep it down," Mustang snapped. "Let's not alert anyone to our presence."

"Yes, sir," the two men said, appropriately chagrined. Well, Fuery, at least, was chagrined. Havoc just gave him a grin that made Hawkeye grit her teeth almost audibly.

They made their ways to the center of Lior, what had seemed a long trip. Nerves were running high by the time they reached the square and the troops took up their points before allowing Mustang to enter. When everything was called clear, Mustang joined the men in the square, Hawkeye, her rifle at ready, keeping close to his side.

"Looks like Edward was here, Boss," Havoc said, taking the all-clear sign to mean that he could smoke a cigarette. He used the tip as a pointer, showing a body that appeared to have been smashed like an overly ripe melon.

"Here's another, sir," Falman called.

Mustang paused over a patch of ground that appeared to have been struck by lightning. He could just discern a pair of handprints, one organic and the other obviously not, in the glassy surface. The arch of an array radiated out from the glass, an array that Mustang remembered from the surveillance photographs. What had Edward been up to?

"Sir?" Hawkeye's voice sounded a bit tentative, that in and of itself an alert.

Turning, Mustang saw her cradling something in her hands, almost as if she carried a wounded bird. "What is it, Lieutenant?" He glanced into her cupped fingers and froze. The silver watch looked as if it had been through a war all by itself.

"There's blood, sir." Hawkeye glanced over her shoulder.

"Show me." Mustang clenched his jaw, following the lieutenant to the area. Blood trailed down a wall, not enough, Mustang thought, to be life threatening.

Hawkeye said, studying the streak, "That blood loss by itself might not have been fatal."

"Spread out." Raising his voice, Mustang said, "Find the Elric brothers."

"Yes, sir." The chorus was gratifying without offering any comfort. Hawkeye stood next to him, sliding the watch into her pocket. Softly, she said, "Sir, what do you think Edward was attempting?"

"Boss! Over here!" Havoc waved frantically before dropping to his knees, shoveling rubble with his hands.

Mustang ran over, recognizing the metal flange. "Alphonse." Waving, he called in his men. "Get him out of here."

Dust flew as the men complied, heaving debris, scraping off the smaller pieces and the dirt. Hawkeye kept lookout, her rifle held at the ready as Alphonse's armor was excavated. The suit had suffered damage from the wall that had fallen on it. Mustang's fists clenched. The missile that had finished the destruction of the square appeared to have crushed most of the limbs of the armor.

"Boss," Havoc said, glancing up, panic-stricken. He'd uncovered Alphonse's helmet. It, too, had suffered from the blast. Separate from the armor, the eye sockets seemed to glare up at Mustang. He swept that thought aside.

"Keep digging," he barked.

The left side of the suit was uncovered, the limbs twisted and flattened. Part of the chest plate and rib protection could now be seen.

"Sir, do you hear that?" Hawkeye asked, taking a step closer to the digging.

"Quiet," Mustang ordered and all motion ceased. The men exchanged glances as the noise resolved itself to be the sound of someone crying.

Hawkeye stared down at the chest plate, her eyes widening. "It's coming from there."

Mustang moved in to assist dredging out the armor. Time clung in the air like the dust. The grit got into his throat, stung his eyes. Sharp edges sliced through his skin, reddish soil clinging to the cuts. They managed to clear most of the debris from the armor but a large piece, too heavy to lift easily, rested on the shoulders and chest plate. The men panted, swiping at their foreheads and puffing. "Alphonse?" Mustang asked around a cough.

The voice rang tentatively out of the armor. "Colonel? Where am I? Why is it so dark?"

"We're still trying to get you clear, Alphonse," Mustang said.

"Sir?" There was a bonging sound. "That may not be necessary. Can you open the chest plate?"

Mustang exchanged a look with Havoc. The second lieutenant brushed rubble free of a buckle and yanked the leather strap, pushing up on the plate. A hand appeared through the opening. Breda grabbed the other end of the plate. "Heave," he said, pushing on the metal at the same time as Havoc. The shell shifted with a disturbing rumble of loose debris and Falman added his strength to the endeavor. "We won't be able to hold it long," Breda said, straining to keep the plate moving.

Mustang readied himself. "Give me your hands, Alphonse." He reached into the chest cavity, feeling a pair of cool palms touching his, fingers wrapping around his wrists. "All together," he said, "on three. One," he tightened his grip on the boy's forearms. "Two," he exchanged glances with his men. "Three!"

Breda, Falman and Havoc shoved at the plate at the same time that Mustang hauled back. Feet dug into the soft dirt, slipped and fought to regain the pressure needed. Groans came from the trio. Mustang gritted his teeth, seeing a head in the cavity. A part of him likened it to a birth. "Again," he shouted and the men pushed harder, giving enough space that the boy could be dragged through the metal carapace. As soon as his feet cleared the opening, the men dropped the shell, the resulting boom nearly loud enough to deafen. The wall shuddered and everyone scattered, Mustang keeping hold of the boy as he dragged him away.

"Whoa," Havoc said, wiping his forehead with his cuff. "That was tough work, Boss." He started at the sight of the naked boy sprawled half across Mustang. "Hey!"

The boy sat up, rubbing at his eyes, shielding them from the brightness of the afternoon sun. "Where's Brother?" he asked.

Mustang extricated himself from the brown-haired boy, taking off his jacket and draping it over Alphonse's shoulders. "We were hoping you could tell us that, Alphonse."

"Alphonse?" Breda whispered, exchanging surprised looks with the other men.

"Alphonse," Hawkeye said, kneeling next to him. She picked up his hand, holding it in front of his face, clasping it in her own. "Alphonse, you're human."

He raised a dirt-streaked face, looking at them all, taking in their shocked expressions. "Brother did it," he said, dropping his gaze back to his fingers entwined with Hawkeye's. Stumbling to his feet, he searched the square. "Brother? Brother, where are you?"

"Alphonse," Hawkeye said softly as the boy pulled his hand free from hers. "We've been looking for Edward."

Stubbing his foot on a chunk of building, Alphonse fell with a cry. He caught himself on his hands and knees, the jacket sliding off of him. Hawkeye moved to him, helping him back up, guiding his arms through the jacket and buttoning it up. Alphonse stared at his bloody hands then slowly up at the woman. She slid an arm around his shoulders. "You didn't find Brother, did you?" he asked without hope.

Sliding her free hand into her pocket, Hawkeye pulled out the watch. Alphonse swallowed hard, seeing the state of the timepiece. Biting his lip, he slipped out from under Hawkeye's arm, making his way to the glossy patch on the array's ring. He dropped to his knees, laying his hands in the prints. "Oh, Brother," he whispered brokenly. "What did you do?"

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

* * *

There were too many people, Winry thought, her head bowed so her bangs fell over her eyes. It seemed…wrong, somehow. A travesty. Through the net veil of her hat, she could look out and pretend that they didn't see her. She wasn't sure if they noticed her anyway. They were all focused on the pastor speaking words over the freshly turned earth and a coffin, empty except for an automail leg and an automail arm. A stone rose starkly out of the ground; a name, two dates and a rank on it, more stones lurking around it. Winry snuck a glance at the young man standing next to her, sliding her hand into his.

He blinked, exchanging a long glance with her. His soft brown eyes were worn and weary and she wondered if they were mirrors of her own. She, at least, had the option of that veil; what was in his face couldn't be hidden. Winry could see the tears waiting to spill in Alphonse's eyes; felt her own well in empathy. But neither of them would allow that emotion, not now. They both turned to the pastor as if coming to the same conclusion. Not yet.

The pastor talked of Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric, some brave young man called away too soon from his friends and family. Edward, the pastor said, had given his own life so that others might live. Alphonse's hand tightened on Winry's then, so much that if she hadn't been numb already, she might've cried out. Edward Elric should be considered a hero for everything that he'd done; for the love he offered to his brother; for saving so many military men from a fateful attack in the city of Lior. The pastor raised his eyes from his book, smiling sadly at the people gathered around the grave and asked for everyone to join him in a prayer for the soul of Edward.

Winry bit her lip to keep from screaming that Edward didn't believe in God; that he would've considered this to be a mockery of almost everything that he'd lived for. Everything Edward had done had been to get Alphonse his body. It wasn't about Lior or the soldiers and she knew it and Alphonse did, too. Al's grip shifted in hers as if to offer her strength this time and she lowered her head obediently. Beside her, Granny Pinako sniffed once but Winry couldn't tell if it was in sorrow or in disgust.

More words spilled out of the pastor's mouth, extolling Edward's soul to its final rest, calling forth blessings upon the young man and all those he'd loved (Winry closed her eyes and swallowed hard at that phrase), speaking finally the last rite and closing his book in finality. Military men in blue uniforms shoveled earth onto the top of the casket. It boomed hollowly and Winry flinched at the sound. Sunlight seemed to curl along the headstone, caressing the letters and numbers carved into it and Winry felt like shouting that the day should be grey; should be dark. Edward Elric's memory shouldn't be consigned to the ground on a sunny afternoon.

Someone said bitterly, "It isn't fair."

"Shh." Pinako's narrow, bony hand pressed into Winry's back. "Shh, Winry."

The dirt slowly filled up the hole, the men mounding the soil up over the coffin. They turned as a unit and marched away. Someone was talking, a low voice filled with pain. Winry waved her free hand at the voice, like shooing a bee. She could hear Pinako answering, sounding angry. A faint smile settled into place. Granny would take care of it. Granny would make sure everything was all right. Winry reveled in that dream for a few seconds before someone stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the headstone.

"Mr. Elric," the person said and went on talking.

Winry couldn't even drag her eyes up to see who spoke; her vision filled with an expanse of blue decorated with gold and with colored ribbons. Alphonse's grip on her hand tightened again and she found she could look at him. His expression was horrified, his throat working. He pulled back away from Winry, their arms stretching between them like a ribbon. Slowly her head swung to face that expanse of blue and Winry held out her free hand. "I'll take it," she heard herself say and felt something cool and smooth landing in her palm. She curled her nerveless fingers over it tightly, wondering just what she held.

There were other voices, a blur of sorrow that she couldn't quite take in. Pinako seemed to be handling it so Winry let Alphonse drag her away. They stumbled through the stones together, still joined by their hands, the whatever it was still clutched in Winry's fingers. Someone called to them or Winry thought she heard a voice but she was lost in the sunlight winking on Alphonse's hair, the way his shoulders heaved with each step he took.

"It shouldn't be sunny," she heard someone saying in her voice. "It's not right. I don't want to see the sun and think of his eyes."

"Winry," Alphonse moaned.

"You could burn out your sight, staring into his eyes. Like looking into the sun."

Alphonse turned to her, wrapping her in his arms. They were nearly the same height, she thought; Al was even a little taller. A giggle fought to escape her at the thought that Edward would be so jealous as she slid her arms around Al, the hand without the box clutching him tightly.

* * *  
Fuhrer Bradley watched the blond girl get tugged away by Alphonse Elric, the medal box still clutched in her hand.

"That was a good thing you did, Fuhrer," Colonel Archer said, studying the pair with cool eyes, a faint smirk evident on his face.

Wondering what Archer was planning, Bradley said, "I could do nothing less. After all, his brother died a hero. A shame, really, that all that talent is gone." He folded his hands together, surveying the rest of the people, mostly military, scattered about the cemetery. "It really is a beautiful day, isn't it? Much too lovely for a funeral."

Archer tilted his eyes towards Bradley. "Some would say that any day is too beautiful for a funeral, sir."

"Hmm, they'd probably be right." Bradley nodded as he took his leave of Archer. "Excuse me, Colonel. I need to speak to Mustang." He took off across the rich green grass, manicured closely. "Colonel Mustang. If I might speak to you?"

"Sir." Mustang and his cadre saluted as Bradley approached.

"At ease." Bradley smiled, taking note that Mustang had paused next to a stone marking Brigadier General Hughes' grave. "If I could borrow you for a moment, Colonel?" He waved Mustang over.

"Yes, sir?" Mustang nodded at his people, who disbursed. The colonel's mouth was pulled tight, his eyes like black chips of ice. The tension thrummed through his body, most visible in his fists, one of which kept clenching and unclenching involuntarily.

"It's always difficult to lose a man," Bradley said, dropping a heavy hand on Mustang's shoulder in a show of sympathy. "To lose one so young." He shook his head, guiding Mustang away from his pack, though his blonde aide followed discreetly. "It's all right to grieve, Colonel." Turning to look through the trees, Bradley nodded towards the two young people holding each other tightly. An older woman trudged towards them slowly, as if she bore all the sorrow on her shoulders. "Alphonse Elric."

"What about him, sir?" Even Mustang's voice was tight.

Bradley sighed. "It isn't fair that that boy had to go through all this."

"Sir?" Now he just sounded confused.

Squeezing Mustang's shoulder, giving it a little shake to make sure that he had the colonel's attention, Bradley said, "I want you to make sure that Alphonse Elric receives his brother's pension." He smiled down at Mustang companionably. "It's the least we can do."

"Yes, sir," Mustang said. He straightened and saluted. "Thank you, sir."

"Your thanks are unnecessary, Colonel. Appreciated but unnecessary." Bradley turned back towards the mound of fresh dirt, at the white stone marking it. "It's a sad day, Colonel."

Mustang swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"A very sad day." Bradley shifted his gaze towards the trees, narrowing his eye at Alphonse Elric.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

* * *

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," Gracia said to Pinako, showing the older woman to a bedroom. "There's plenty of room."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I know you've been very kind to Winry and the boys," Pinako said, her mouth sagging as she realized what she'd said.

"Please, call me Gracia." She smiled sadly. "They've become family to me, Doctor Rockbell. My husband, Maes, cared a great deal for them. He always had excellent instincts when it came to people. He took to the boys immediately. And Winry, too." She pushed curtains back, looking down into the yard. Elicia had managed to pull Al and Winry into a chasing game and her laughter rose in the clear air. "I know it must be hard on all of you. You've lost a great deal."

"And you know that loss, yourself." Pinako had heard second-hand that Alphonse had taken the news of the death of Gracia's husband hard. Yet another loss to the military, Pinako thought tiredly. It seemed that the best and the brightest always paid the sacrifice. She joined Gracia at the window. "I'm an old woman, Gracia. I didn't expect to have to bury my child and his wife." She shook her head, leaning her hands on the windowsill. "The boys' mother, well, she was like another daughter to me. The boys," she took a steadying breath, "we always expected great things from them."

Laying a hand on the older woman's shoulder, Gracia squeezed gently, nodding into the yard at the children. "Look what they've accomplished already, Doctor Rockbell."

Pinako nodded, patting Gracia's hand. "I understand." Her gaze rested on Alphonse as he swooped Elicia into the air, spinning her around, on Winry as she clapped her hands at the display, at Sciezca, their friend, who didn't seem to know whether to hover over Al or over Winry. "I'm not sure they will, though."

* * *   
The tracks stretched off in the distance, a pathway to the morning sun. The land surrounding the rails was sere, baked by the continuous heat. Pampas grass, white as bone, undulated like dancers in the breeze. Above the grass, silhouetted against the pale sky, a hunting hawk was suspended on an updraft. Antelope grazing near the tracks raised their heads, hearing the thrum coming off the rails. One of the antelope flicked its ears, stomping its hoof. The others swiveled and snorted and the herd flung itself away from the rails like fireworks as a locomotive hurtled along the tracks, steam spilling out of its stack.

The conductor made his way through the passenger cars, calling out for tickets. People always had to hunt for the cards, something that never failed to surprise the man. After each station stop, the tickets needed to be punched. Surely it wasn't difficult to figure out. "Tickets, please," he announced as he entered another car and waited for the pandemonium he'd caused to die down.

The woman sat at the back of the car on the aisle. She was pretty, neatly dressed, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. As the conductor approached, she reached into a pocket, pulling out two tickets and handing them to the conductor. "Thank you, ma'am," he said, punching both cards. His gaze moved over the woman's shapely legs to the person next to her. He sucked back an exclamation at the sight of the boy.

Bundled in a red jacket, the boy's body was broken, missing an arm and a leg; a bandage wrapped around his skull, messy hair not enough to hide the bloodstains on the gauze. "Who's there?" he asked, his head jerking up, showing that the bandage extended down over his eyes. The movement seemed to make him wince.

"Conductor, sir," he said, retreating into formality to cover his shock.

The boy tried to stand, stumbling when his leg hit the floor. "Help me," he said, grabbing across the woman blindly.

The woman caught him and pushed him gently but firmly back into his seat. "I'm sorry. What happened to him," she sighed, shaking her head, "he's not all right." To the boy, she went on, "Shh, you're fine. Be a good boy and maybe you'll see your brother soon."

The boy showed teeth, the cords in his throat standing out. "If you hurt him," he began.

"Darling, why would I harm my own son?" She smoothed the boy's hair and he pulled away as if burnt.

"You aren't my mother!" he cried. "Please, help me." His sightless face turned to the conductor. "Get a message to Roy Mustang, Colonel Mustang at Central Command! Tell him you saw me, Edward Elric, on this train. Tell him where she takes me, please, I'm begging you."

The woman winced. "He's delusional, sir. I'm sorry. The pain has," she laid her hand on her forehead, her voice trailing off.

"Understood, ma'am." The conductor glanced back at the other passengers, seeing their expressions of horror and pity. "Ma'am, perhaps you and your son would like a private compartment?"

Her look of gratitude was overwhelming. "That would be greatly appreciated, sir." She touched the boy's leg and he tried to shy away, ramming into the window frame, yelping in shock. "I may need help moving him. He's very strong."

"I'll be back shortly, ma'am." The conductor touched the brim of his cap to her.

"Damn it, I'm a State Alchemist," the boy howled.

Shoulders shaking in silent sobs, the woman lowered her head. A large man moved down the aisle, stopping next to the conductor. "I can help you move him now, if there's a place."

"We'll find one," the conductor said grimly.

"Thank you both so much," the woman said, tears standing in her eyes. She tried to touch the boy's hair but he flinched. "Be a good boy and stop telling all these stories."

The boy thrashed. "They aren't stories."

"Hold still, kid," the big man said, trying to avoid getting hit or kicked. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Please be good, darling." The woman tried to catch the boy's wrist. He fought back, trying to lift the blindfold. Snatching his hand away, she said, "Darling, no. Your eyes!"

The large passenger managed to grab the boy then, picking him up. The boy struggled and screamed, his arm and leg thrashing. The conductor quickly led the man, the boy a swearing and flailing impediment to the progress. The woman followed behind, hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking.

They wrangled the boy into a private coach room, wrapping him into blankets to help contain his struggles. The swearing grew in volume as the swaddling tightened about him. Finally, the conductor closed the door on the pair. "Thank you, sir, for all your help."

The large man rubbed his shoulder. The boy's boot had found it almost unerringly. "Kid's got a mouth on him." He nodded through the window at the woman, who mouthed, "Thank you" back as she pulled the curtains.

Once she was sure no one could see in, Sloth slapped the Fullmetal boy hard enough to rock him back. "You've been a naughty boy, shouting and fighting like that."

Elric licked his split lip, the blood smearing. "Where are you taking me?" he asked in a low growl.

"Far away from your precious military."

He laughed shortly. "You don't know me well, Sloth, if you think I give a damn about them."

Sitting catty-corner to the swaddled boy, Sloth crossed her legs and folded her arms. "Yes, I'd heard rumors that was true. But surely there are those you'd count as comrades. Lieutenant Colonel…oh, sorry, Brigadier General Hughes, for one."

The blankets twitched and writhed as Elric tried to break free. "Leave him out of this."

"If you insist." Sloth settled more comfortably. "But he learned too much. Surely you understand why we had to get rid of him."

"What," the lower half of the boy's face slackened for an instant. "What do you mean? What did you do to Hughes?"

Sloth smiled slightly at the memory. "Hughes is dead."

The boy was struck still by this information, his lips forming the word, "No," without a sound coming out.

"Don't worry, he didn't suffer much," Sloth said. "Well, probably not too much, at least. Lust did claw him but he threw a knife into her skull. That skill was completely unexpected. He tried to stop Envy from killing him, too, but just wasn't fast enough."

"Hughes isn't dead," Elric said, regaining his speech enough to spit out the words.

"What, no one bothered to tell you?" Sloth shook her head, even though the boy couldn't see the movement. "How sloppy. It would explain why I didn't see you at the funeral, though." Hearing a strangled noise, she grinned. "Don't worry, your headstone will probably be close to his. The pair of you can rest in peace together, except, of course, you won't actually be in the ground there."

The sound of the boy's teeth grinding together was audible even over the clatter of the train. Sloth lowered her eyes and smiled. "What did you do with Alphonse?" Elric asked finally.

"Your tin can brother?" Sloth shrugged. "We found you and the remains of Envy, Gluttony and Lust. Clever, using that transmutation circle to draw on them that way. I was most impressed that you'd thought of it."

"What. About. Alphonse," the boy snarled.

"I really don't know. We certainly didn't find him." She peered at Elric, her head tilted to the side. "You didn't go and lose your brother again, did you, Edward?" The answering groan made her mouth curl. "You don't look so tough, all trussed up like that."

Elric thrashed his head, panting. "Turn me loose and you'll see how tough I am."

"With one arm and one leg?" Sloth took the two steps across the room, flipping the end of his nose. Edward's head hit the cushion back as he jerked away.

"Don't touch me," he growled.

"Why not? Most boys your age are just dying for the touch of a woman." She laid a hand against his cheek, marveling at the heat coming off of Elric's flesh.

"You're not a woman," he snapped, "and I'm not like most boys."

"Yes, most boys wouldn't be able to bring their mothers back from the dead." Sloth ran a finger along Elric's chin, pulling away as the boy tried to bite her. "Very naughty," she said, tsking. "But such a pretty child." Pushing him back into the seat, she patted his cheek again. "It would have been so much easier to kill you."

"Then why don't you?" he asked, turning as if he could see her through the blindfold.

"Promises made have to be honored," she said, "no matter how stupid they are. Now," Sloth reached into her pocket, pulling out a bottle of liquid. "It's time for you to go back to sleep." Taking the handkerchief from her breast pocket, she shook some of the liquid onto the fabric.

"What are you doing?" Elric asked as she placed the handkerchief over his nose and mouth.

"Relax, little boy. This won't hurt. It's chloroform. Later, it'll give you a headache but now," Sloth kept it pressed against Elric's face, even though he struggled. "Now it'll make you sleep." Despite his cursing and head tossing, the Elric boy succumbed to the drug, eventually slumping back in his seat. Once she was sure he was unconscious, Sloth slid open the window to clear the air of the remaining scent and tucked the handkerchief back in her pocket.

"Sleep, Edward Elric," Sloth said. She settled back into her own chair. "You might need it later."

* * *  
"Hey, Al, get up already. The sun's shining."

"Brother?" Alphonse stared at Edward, a cocky grin on his face, standing in the doorway. "Brother, you're here?"

"Of course I'm here. Now get up, we've got things to do." Ed leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his sleeveless shirt. Both arms were flesh, as were his legs.

"Like what?" Hopping out of bed, Alphonse crossed the room eagerly. Edward always had the best ideas.

"We're gonna do some alchemy."

"What kind, Brother?" Alphonse didn't like the smile on Ed's face. There was something wrong with it.

"Forbidden alchemy," Edward said, waving him to follow as he dashed out of the house. Alphonse ran after him, trying to call his brother's name but Ed was a fast runner and it was all Al could do to keep up. He felt like he was running in mud, with Ed getting farther and farther ahead of him. His brother spun around time and again, yelling at Al to hurry up.

"I'm trying, Brother," Alphonse shouted back. "Wait for me."

Ed was just a silhouette on the top of a hill, his hands prepared to clap. "Al, you're too slow. You were faster when you were a suit of armor."

"Brother, don't." Al toiled up the hill, the sun beating down on him. It threw Edward into shadow, so Al couldn't really see his brother, just a black outline. "You know what happened the last time we tried forbidden alchemy."

It seemed like something reached out and dragged him up the hill, depositing him right in front of Edward. It looked like his brother had been in a fight somewhere between the house and the top of the hill; his face was bruised, a trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. One eye was nearly swollen shut. He was bowed down, his automail arm dragging at him, pulling him off-balance. Still, he tilted his head back, meeting Alphonse's horrified gaze. "The last time we tried forbidden alchemy," he said, spitting blood past a knife-edge smile, "I died."

Alphonse sat up abruptly, his heart thundering in his chest. The shadows were as unfamiliar as the room and at first; he couldn't remember where he was. "Brother?" he called softly. "Edward?"

There was a faint creak and Alphonse whirled towards it, clutching the blanket covering his waist. "Brother?"

"No." There was a hitch in Winry's voice as she said, "just me." She crept into the room, closing the door softly behind her. "I couldn't sleep."

Al shook his head, trying to disperse the nightmare. "I wish I hadn't," he said bitterly, bending his legs and wrapping his arms around them. Winry took the silent invitation and sat down, her fingers loosely knotted between her knees. They both sat quietly, drawing strength from each other's presence.

Winry finally reached over, taking one of Al's hands in her own, twining her fingers with his. "This is wonderful," she said, giving him a squeeze. "Don't ever forget it."

Swallowing, Alphonse managed to choke out, "I won't."

There was another silence, where Winry rubbed her thumb over the back of Alphonse's hand. Touch was so amazingly strange to him after so long without it. He thought he could feel every whorl in the pad of her thumb, the way the texture changed as it slid over his skin. He wondered if he'd always be this sensitive.

"Al," Winry said quietly, "I have to go to see Colonel Mustang." She sounded decisive but her palm pressed against his hand felt damp. "Can you tell me how to get to his office?"

"I can take you," Alphonse said but even in the dim light of the room, he could tell Winry was shaking her head.

"I don't want you to, Al. This is something I need to do alone."

"Why?" Al gave her hand a little shake. "Winry?"

Sounding grim, she said, "I don't really want to tell you, Al."

"Are you afraid I'll try to talk you out of it?" Alphonse leaned closer. "Is it about Edward?" He'd follow her no matter what she said if it was.

Winry sighed. "No, Al." She reached over to ruffle his hair. That felt good, too. He wondered if this was why cats purred. "I just, well, I wanted you to know."

"Why?" He really didn't like the sound of this. Winry could be just as stubborn as Edward but the way she was talking, it almost sounded as if she expected to not return from the meeting. "Winry, please tell me what this is about."

"Alphonse." Her voice was tight, as if she was trying to keep from crying, he thought. "It's personal. I'm not going to tell you." In a completely different tone, she added, "I'm glad you never became a State Alchemist, Al. I wouldn't want to lose you, too."

He couldn't say that she wouldn't, after all, her parents and Lieutenant Colonel – no, Al corrected himself, Brigadier General Hughes had died in service. And Brother, too, a little voice said brokenly inside him. There was no safety in the military.

They both were quiet for a while but finally Al broke the silence. "Winry, do you think," he hesitated, moistening his lips, "do you think it was worth it? L-lose." His voice cracked. Swallowing, Al tried again. "Losing Brother?"

"Oh, Al. You guys always told me alchemy was about equivalent exchange." Winry sounded dreamy. Alphonse wished he could make out the expression on her face but it was too dark. "We both know how guilty Ed felt about you being trapped in that suit of armor." She tugged at his hand, pulling him close. Al leaned his head on her shoulder and Winry wrapped her arms around him, rocking him. "Edward thought you were worth it. That's what matters, Al. He loved you enough to do this." She pressed a kiss against his hair.

"But what do you think?" he asked, dreading her answer.

Winry cupped his chin, turning his face to hers. Leaning her forehead against his, she was so close that their eyelashes nearly touched. "I think Edward was very brave, doing what he did," she sniffed, "to give me my little brother back."

Alphonse sobbed, letting her draw his head back to her shoulder again. "I miss him, Winry. I miss him so much."

"Oh, Al." Stroking his hair, Winry whispered, "I know."

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

* * *  
Sciezca wriggled in the hard chair, trying to get more comfortable. Her mother smiled at her from her bed, reaching out a hand. "I'm so glad to see you, dear. I've missed you."

Sciezca squeezed her mother's fingers gently. "I'm sorry I had to leave so suddenly, without even telling you where I'd gone. I really had a good reason to do it."

Lowering her voice, her mother asked, "Does it have anything to do with the death of that nice Lieutenant Colonel who hired you?"

Pulling the chair closer to the head of the bed, Sciezca laid a finger on her lips. "Shh, Mom. The walls have ears."

"But you have to tell me, darling," her mother whispered. "You just vanished. I was so worried."

"Mom, it's safer if you don't know anything," Sciezca said firmly, thinking about the alien she and Winry had seen in the tunnel. Winry swore it wasn't an alien but Sciezca didn't believe her. What else could it have been, a living body of water that suddenly turned a human face on them? Shivering, Sciezca wondered if the alien would've drowned them with its own body. "Really, Mom. I've seen strange things." Too strange. She really didn't like being in Central but she wasn't going to let Alphonse, Winry and Doctor Pinako come to Ed's funeral alone.

A little disappointed, her mother leaned back in the bed. "What have you been doing that you can tell me about then, dear?"

"I, uh, well, I've been staying out in the country." Sciezca offered her mother a bright smile. "It's a really pretty place but would you believe they don't have a library?"

"How is it you're even surviving?" her mother teased.

"It's not been easy," Sciezca said, shaking her head. "But the family I'm staying with, they're very nice. And," her voice trailed off, her shoulders slumping.

"Oh, darling, it isn't bad news," her mother said, combing Sciezca's bangs with her fingers.

"Yes, Mom, it is. A friend of mine – a very close friend of the family I'm staying with, he died suddenly." She nibbled her lip. "He was a soldier. A State Alchemist."

"Is that the nice Mr. Edward you were telling me about? Darling, I'm so sorry." Her hand caressed Sciezca's cheek. "Your friends must be devastated."

Not trusting her voice, Sciezca nodded.

"Didn't you tell me that he had a brother, too?"

"Alphonse," Sciezca managed to get out. She removed her glasses to wipe at her eyes. "He's going to stay with my friends, the Rockbells. He and Winry and," she swallowed, "Edward grew up together and Alphonse doesn't have any other family."

A dark-haired, bearded man paused in the doorway. "Oh, I'm sorry," he said, "I didn't realize you had a visitor, Mrs. Harrison."

"No, come in, Doctor. This is my daughter, Sciezca."

"Now, Mrs. Harrison, I've told you before, I'm not a doctor yet." He wagged a finger at her playfully. "I've got to finish my schooling first." Offering a hand, he said, "Hello, Miss Sciezca. I'm Michael Todd." He drew back slightly at the sight of Sciezca's tears. "Am I intruding?" he asked gently.

"My daughter has lost a friend of hers," her mother said gently.

"I'm very sorry, Miss Sciezca." He laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "That's always a difficult thing."

Accepting the handkerchief her mother passed to her, Sciezca wiped her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice wavering a little. "I didn't even really know him that long. I can't imagine how Alphonse and Winry are feeling."

"Winry? Winry Rockbell?" Mr. Todd's hand suddenly weighed heavy on her shoulder. "And Alphonse, do you mean Alphonse Elric?"

She nodded mutely, looking up at the young man.

"Are you saying that Edward Elric is dead, Miss Sciezca?" The words crackled, like ice breaking on a river.

"You know him?"

"I did, yes, once, a long time ago. He's much younger than I am," Mr. Todd caught himself with an apologetic shrug. "Was much younger. But my little sister used to play with him and his brother and Winry." He shook his head, bemused. "He'd been gone so long from Rezembool, he and his brother both. Once he had his automail attached, he and Alphonse just left." Returning from his memories, Mr. Todd sighed. "This is very sad news, Miss Sciezca. Were you close to Edward?"

"He and Alphonse helped me get Mom here," Sciezca said, flapping her hand to indicate the hospital. "If it weren't for them, well. And Winry and her grandmother have been letting me stay with them." Taking a shaky breath, she went on. "We came into Central for Ed's funeral and to get Alphonse."

Mr. Todd lowered his head. "I should do something, pay my condolences."

"You could come with me," Sciezca said cautiously. "We're all staying here in town, with another friend."

His face brightened slightly. "That would be wonderful, Miss Sciezca. I need to finish my rounds and," he paused. "I don't want to be an imposition. Why don't you call and find out if they're up to seeing anyone? If not, maybe I can send flowers." He ruffled his hair up the back of his neck.

"I can call," Sciezca said, nodding. "I'm sure they'd appreciate you coming by."

"Good." Mr. Todd patted her shoulder. "I'll leave you to make the call and I'll be back by in about forty-five minutes to find out what you have to say. Mrs. Harrison? You've got a lovely, caring daughter."

Her mother flushed prettily. "Thank you, Doctor Todd."

"What have I told you?" he asked, playful again. "I'm not a doctor yet. But I do need to check your pulse and listen to your heart. So, Sciezca, if you'd like to use the telephone at the nurse's desk, I'm sure that will be fine, and I'll just finish up with your mother while you're gone."

"Thank you, Mr. Todd," Sciezca said, bobbing her head. She left the room, hearing Mr. Todd asking her mother about how she felt and whether she'd liked her breakfast. It might be nice to bring Mr. Todd to the Hughes' house, Sciezca thought. Seeing a face from home might be good for Winry and Al.

* * *   
The train station was large and well kept, with marble floors and high windows. Stained glass topped the windows, so far up that no one really noticed their color. Benches made of golden oak were laid out as if attending a church service, with the altar being the ticket gates and arrival-departure sign. People sat on the benches; some of them slumped in sleep, others watching the gateway towards the train tracks.

Two men sat on one of the benches about halfway between the doorway leading to the city and the arch that opened onto the train platforms. Fingerless gloves covered their hands; hats were pulled down low over their foreheads. They huddled in ragged jackets and trousers, appearing no more than a pair of men down on their luck, trying to get in out of the cold. They were disparate under their uniform clothing; one was tall and rangy, with red hair like wires rippling over his head. The other was half a head shorter; the ends of his dark hair brushing his broad shoulders. The dark-haired man had a perpetual squint, often relying on the redhead for visual information.

Now, they were locked in a discussion of an article that the dark-haired man had read, about controlling one's destiny by the use of signs.

"Signs," the redhead said with a headshake. "Pierce, that's gotta be the craziest thing you've come up with yet."

Pierce rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that because you don't believe in it, Johns."

"It's another load of hooey." Johns flapped a hand at Pierce. "What was it last week, something about 'the stars guiding our paths'?" He let out an inelegant snort. "Stars, signs, the innards of a goat. There ain't no way to tell the future using any of them things."

Sighing, Pierce said, "What if I told you there was a way to make it work?"

"There ain't," Johns insisted, thumping a finger against Pierce's breastbone. "You got rooked with that story."

"I didn't pay for the magazine." Pierce shrugged.

"I will, having to listen to you yammer about it for the next fortnight." Johns crossed his arms petulantly, slumping deeper into the bench.

A woman came out of the ticket booth, crossing to the arrival-departure board. Using a sponge, she wiped a space clean then added an arrival time for a train. Pierce squinted. "What's it say?"

Johns wriggled his backside. "That's our train, Pierce." He rolled his eyes to the clock above the archway. "We got another ten minutes before it arrives. Better get ready." He patted a yawn then stretched his arms and legs out in front of him. Flexing his ankles, he smiled when the joints cracked. "That's better."

Pierce slouched a little deeper into his jacket. "Wonder what we've got coming this time?"

"Does it matter?" Johns pulled off his hat, checking the crease in the crown. "Lizabet sent us for pickup." He nudged Pierce. "That's some nice money, that is."

"Good point." Pierce watched the blurs of people wandering by, some in a hurry, accustomed to the bustle of the station; others staring with huge eyes and open mouths at the grandeur of the building. Children ran around their harried parents, who entreated the brats to stay close. Pierce's gaze lingered on a little girl with pigtails as she hopped after her father.

"No money in that one," Johns said, leaning close to whisper in Pierce's ear. "Lizabet doesn't like 'em that young." He licked his lips. "Wouldn't mind a taste of it myself, though."

Before Pierce could respond, the train's arrival was announced. Shortly thereafter, people started pouring through the archway, porters following some with luggage carts. The chaos seemed like it would go on forever but eventually slowed to a trickle and stopped altogether. Finally, a creaking sound echoed off the marble and wood. Johns elbowed Pierce again and they both roused themselves slightly as a pretty woman, neatly dressed, pushed a wheelchair out from under the archway. She hesitated; searching the station then guided the chair past the benches. The front wheel squeaked, enough noise to wake the dead, Pierce thought grimly. The passenger in the chair slumped in it, a strap around his chest holding him in place. By the way his head bobbed, Pierce guessed he was unconscious.

Pierce followed the woman and the chair with his eyes as far as he could. "I think that's a sign, Johns," he said, almost under his breath.

"Don't start," Johns said warningly.

Once the woman was through the doorway that led to the streets, the two men rose, following slowly.

It was cloudy as usual outside, heavy banks of smoke from the city's countless factories blackening the sky. The sun was weak, a pale lemon disc trying to beat through the pollution with little luck. The streets were crowded with people bustling about. Horse-drawn cabs and automobiles vied for the cobblestone roads. Flower girls peddled their wares, paperboys hawked the latest news. With all the movement, it was hard at first to locate one woman but Johns pointed her out with a jerk of his chin. Pierce nodded and the pair loped off after her.

Away from the station, the crowds lessened. Just ten blocks away, a park opened up on the street. The woman pushed her chair into the park, disappearing behind the high walls. Pierce and Johns picked up speed, dodging around the obstacles of people, horse turds and the beasts themselves. A small dog ran yapping behind them for a few paces but was called back by a little boy. The two men slipped into the park, catching sight of the woman. She had stopped on the path near a bridge, sitting on a park bench with the chair facing the water.

Slowing their pace, Pierce swept in behind her while Johns moved in front. "Hello, love," Johns said, touching the brim of his hat.

The woman looked him up and down then twisted but Pierce remained just out of her view behind her. Giving up on spotting him, she turned her attention back to Johns. "You're from Lizabet?"

"Her fame precedes us," Johns said.

"Something like that." The woman gestured at the chair. "She's already paid for him."

Johns' face wrinkled and Pierce frowned at the back of the chair. "He's a cripple."

"He," the woman said tartly, "is a State Alchemist." She ignored the sound of Johns' low whistle. "He may not look like much but he's quite the troublemaker. We took the precaution of removing his automail prior to travel."

Pierce asked, his voice gruff, "The bandages?"

"We found him after he'd been in a fight," the woman said with a shrug of her slim shoulders. "He was unconscious; not too badly hurt. I think there are some broken ribs and he was bleeding from a head wound. We wrapped him up but it still took a strong man to handle him on the trip here."

"And it was just you," Johns said in mock disbelief.

The woman snapped, "I required assistance when he regained consciousness. After that, I kept him drugged with chloroform."

"Too much of that could damage him," Pierce said sharply.

"He's still alive." The woman flapped a hand. "Trust me, that one's too stubborn to die. He's quick-witted, too. If Lizabet is smart, she won't let him have access to anything he could use to draw a transmutation circle."

"We'll tell her," Johns said, his eyes dropping to the boy, a fine sheen of sweat beading his forehead.

Her voice was flat as she said, "Do that." Rising from the bench, the woman smoothed her hair away from her face. Pierce sidled to keep behind her. "Well, Edward, I hope you enjoy your new home." Nodding to Johns, she added, "Goodbye, gentlemen." Without further comment, she strode briskly away from them.

Pierce moved around to where Johns stood in front of the chair. "State Alchemist, huh?" He rubbed his chin, eyeing the crippled boy strapped in the chair.

"Let's just drop him off at Lizabet's and collect our money." Johns shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "Kid gives me the creeps."

Pushing the boy's bangs off his face, Pierce said, "Not like he could hurt you."

"Doesn't matter. Them State Alchemists are devils." Johns shuddered exaggeratedly.

"Shut it." Pierce took the grips of the wheelchair, pushing it onto the path. "Let's get him to Lizabet's, like you said and collect our money."

They moved quickly through the town, exchanging shouts when they had to haul the chair across the streets in front of cars or horses. They nearly upset a fruit cart and got cursed roundly by the merchant. Johns replied with a few choice words and gestures of his own before chasing off after Pierce. They wound their way through progressively narrower, dirtier streets. Children dressed in shabby clothes came to dance around them, peppering them with questions. Johns roved a small perimeter; the kids were accomplished thieves and would think nothing of taking what coins he and Pierce had secreted on their bodies. "G'wan with you or you'll answer to Miss Lizabet." The name cowed all but the boldest, sending them scurrying after safer prey.

"Who is he?" a scrawny girl asked, her dress pulling tight over her budding chest. She slapped away the hand that Johns tried to put on her.

"Does it matter?" Pierce asked, looking at her. "He's going to Miss Lizabet."

The girl's face twisted. "Wish she'd ask me inside," she said wonderingly.

"I could ask you inside," Johns said, reaching for her again.

She dodged back from his grasp. "Ma told me to stay away from you, Johns," she said sharply.

"Leave her alone," Pierce snapped. "We've got a job to finish."

Johns walked backwards, staring after the girl. "You wait. We finish this job and I'll have more than enough money to make your ma change her mind."

Finally, they reached a doorway, the frame around it painted scarlet. The back entrance to Miss Lizabet's was neatly kept, the stoop swept and the alley kept free of the usual trash. A guard eyed them as they approached, the squeaky chair more than the usual announcement. He reached behind him to pull a bell strap. Somewhere inside the building, a bell would ring, alerting other guards and Lizabet herself that someone had arrived.

"Delivery," Johns said, hooking one foot on the first step of the stoop.

The guard, a smallish man with a scar running down one cheek, looked them over. "Pierce. Johns."

Pierce crossed his arms on the back of the chair, slouching against it. "Orvi. We got Miss Lizabet's newest."

Orvi peered into the chair, an eyebrow rising. "Doesn't look like much."

"Good thing you ain't paying for him," Johns said though he took a sideways step when he realized how close the boy was to him.

Three sharp raps came from inside the door. Orvi tapped once, paused and scratched his fingernails over a panel. Pierce heard locks being turned and bolts being slid and the door opened silently, Miss Lizabet barely fitting in the opening, wide as she was. Two shadows, another pair of guards, loomed behind her. She stepped out, her nose wrinkling as if she smelled something foul. "Pierce. Johns."

"Miss Lizabet." They both touched their caps to her.

"This is my delivery?" She looked down her nose at the boy in the wheelchair. The lamplight in the alley caught her eyes, making them glitter like pitch.

"Brought him straightaway," Pierce said, patting the back of the chair.

Her mouth pursed as she studied the boy. "He's damaged," she said finally.

"Miss Lizabet, we brought him to you direct from the train." Johns waved a hand at the chair. "This is how he came to us."

With a snap of her fingers, she alerted her two shadows. "Take the delivery inside. Put it in the green room."

"Miss Lizabet," Pierce said as he stepped aside, allowing the muscular guards to lift the chair up the stairs. It disappeared inside the building and his gaze trailed after it.

"What is it, Pierce?"

"The delivery." He moistened his suddenly dry lips. "The courier said he's a State Alchemist."

"The courier said you weren't to let him have anything he could draw with, Miss Lizabet. Nothing," Johns added.

Miss Lizabet sucked on the corners of her mouth. "Really." Rummaging in her cleavage, she removed a purse. She counted out their payment, handing it to Johns. "That should make it interesting."

"I'm not sure if 'interesting' is the word for it," Pierce said, almost below his breath. Orvi shot him a look and he smiled broadly back. "Do you believe in signs, Orvi?"

"Signs?"

"Don't get him started, Orvi. He'll talk your ear off," Johns warned.

"Johns?" The woman stretched out her pudgy fingers to him, the money held loosely in her grip.

"Thank you, Miss Lizabet," Johns said, touching his cap again. He counted out Pierce's portion of the money. "You need anything else, you know who to call."

"Of course." Miss Lizabet stumped back inside the building, the door closing behind her. The locks shot home with a barrage of clicks.

Johns patted Pierce's arm. "Let's go."

Pierce nodded, dragging his gaze away from the door. "See ya, Orvi." The guard grunted in reply as Pierce followed Johns back up the alley.

Johns eagerly led them on a route that somewhat intersected their previous one. He paused at the entrance to the street, a smile stretching his mouth. "Now, where'd that girl go," he said musingly. Catching sight of the expression on Pierce's face, his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Something wrong with a man having some fun?"

Reaching into his breast pocket, Pierce pulled out a pair of glasses, settling them into place. "Remember when I was talking about signs, Johns?"

The redhead frowned at the sight of the glasses. "Yeah."

"That boy is the first one." Pierce's hand twitched and something silver glinted between his fingers. He smiled without humor, flinging the knife before Johns had a chance to react. The blade caught Johns in the forehead, a trickle of blood running slowly down over his nose as he fell back against the alley wall. Glancing to make sure that no one had noticed the exchange, Pierce dragged Johns back into the alley. He removed the blade, wiping it clean on Johns' jacket and secreted the body in the rubbish. "I'd say I'm sorry, Johns," he said, sliding the throwing knife back into its sheath against his wrist, "but that'd be lying."

Tugging his coat closer around himself, the dark-haired man walked deeper into the labyrinthine streets of the city. He hated leaving Ed behind but if he'd taken the boy tonight, the word would get out and they'd be found in less than a day. First thing - find a place where he could stash a State Alchemist who looked worse for the wear. Second, reconnoiter Miss Lizabet's house.

Pierce shoved the glasses up on his nose, fighting down a sense of nostalgia. It wouldn't be the first time he'd rescued a State Alchemist from a brothel. The only difference was that Ed would probably be thankful.

Roy, on the other hand, had sworn at him for weeks afterwards.

* * *  
Winry tilted her head back to stare at the military headquarters in front of her. It wasn't the first time she'd been here; she'd met Edward and Alphonse at this building before. She clamped down on the feelings rising at that thought. It wouldn't do to be emotional though that was her nature. Winry knew she was temperamental, blowing hot or cold in the matter of an instant. Now she had to remain as calm as she could.

Taking a deep breath and letting it back out, Winry started up the marble stairs. She counted each step in an attempt to keep herself focused. Twenty steps up, a ledge, then another fifteen steps. Her shoes clicked over the inlaid stone, worn slick over the years. She decided she would've hated walking over this in the rain.

She didn't waste any time working her way to the right floor, down the correct hall. Walking quickly past open doors, Winry realized she'd attracted some attention. She knew that sooner or later, someone would ask her what she was doing here. She wanted to see Colonel Mustang before that. If she let herself think about it, Winry really wanted to get in and out before she saw the Fuhrer's aide, Lieutenant Douglas. What had happened when she and Sciezca had attempted to spy on the lieutenant was still very fresh in Winry's memory. She rubbed her hands over her arms in an attempt to stop the goose bumps.

Someone popped out of a doorway behind her. "Excuse me, miss?"

Saying a naughty word in her head, Winry quickly decided on her tactics. Turning slowly, she lowered her head so her bangs hid her eyes. "I'm looking for Colonel Mustang's office," she said. Well, it was the truth.

"I'm sorry, miss. You're not supposed to be in this section of the building without prior military approval." The man eyed her, obviously deciding that she didn't seem to be much of a threat by his cross-armed stance.

"I didn't know," Winry mumbled. "Is there any way I can see Colonel Mustang?"

Oh, she really didn't like the leer sliding onto this man's face. "Why do you want to see him?" His voice became positively condescending. "If I were you, I wouldn't expect him to call you again. He's pretty much a love 'em and leave 'em type."

Her hands clenched into fists involuntarily but she restrained herself from punching him. He did have a gun, after all. "It's very important," Winry said.

"Yeah, that's what they all say. Come on, I'll show you back out." He made to grasp her upper arm.

Winry pulled away, flinging her hair out of her face. "I'm not here because of some date with the colonel." Tears, unbidden, stung her eyes. "I'm here because of the State Alchemist you call 'Fullmetal.'" She glared at the soldier, silently daring him to make an inappropriate comment about Ed. Gun or not, she would hit him then.

She could tell by the way he looked her over, he was thinking about it. "Fullmetal, eh?" The sneer twitched its way back into place on his mouth. "And I didn't think he had anything to do with girls." Raking his eyes over her figure, he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You might have a way of changing a man's mind, though." Winry noted with grim satisfaction that the hand on his chin was the one he'd need to draw his pistol and adjusted her stance for maximum impact.

"Winry! What are you doing here?" First Lieutenant Hawkeye's voice was almost unwelcome at this point. The soldier came to attention as Hawkeye approached. She barely gave him a glance. The incongruous sight of a curly-tailed dog surprised Winry. The dog seemed to smile up at her before politely sniffing her ankles.

"I came to see Colonel Mustang," Winry said, not taking her eyes off the soldier in front of her. "Then he stopped me."

"She's without an escort, sir," the soldier said, the smirk still hovering around the corners of his mouth.

Hawkeye coldly said, "She has one now. Return to your duties."

"Yes, sir." He saluted and turned on the ball of his foot.

Both Hawkeye and Winry watched him duck back into one of the offices. "Slime," Hawkeye muttered under her breath then turned her attention to Winry. "He's one of the reasons why you should never arrive here unannounced, Winry."

"I was going to hit him," Winry said, shooting a glare at the doorway into which the soldier had disappeared.

"Yes, I could tell. And while I would have applauded your motives, I might have been forced to take you into custody for striking an officer of the military." Lecture over; Hawkeye favored her with a faint smile. "Are you really here to see the Colonel?"

"Yes. If he'll see me." She folded her hands together, trying to appear distraught. It really didn't take much acting. Her eyes still stung though at this point, she wasn't sure if it was from rage or the possibility of speaking to Colonel Mustang.

"Maybe you should wash your face first," Hawkeye said gently, touching her shoulder. "Come with me. I'll show you where the washroom is and you can get cleaned up. After that, I'll take you to see the Colonel."

"Thank you, Lieutenant Hawkeye." Winry glanced down at the dog as they walked to the washroom. "If you don't mind me asking, isn't it against regulations for you to have a dog in the building?"

Hawkeye didn't even look. "What dog?" she asked but gave Winry a sly grin. "I don't see any dog. Colonel Mustang doesn't see any dog. There isn't a dog here."

"Oh." Winry nodded. "So, if there was a dog, would he have a name?"

"Black Hayate." The dog raised his head at the sound of his name, mouth parting in a doggy smile. "Here's the washroom, Winry. I'll inform Colonel Mustang that you'd like an appointment but I won't be far away." Hawkeye indicated a window cut into the wall, a little further down the hallway, a telephone visible on the ledge.

"Thank you again, Lieutenant Hawkeye." Winry slipped inside the room and sagged against the door. She allowed herself the luxury here, where no one could see. "This is harder than I thought." Locking the door, she went to the washstand, staring at her reflection. Her eyes were reddened and her cheeks flushed. Winry's reflection narrowed her lips. No wonder Lieutenant Hawkeye was giving her the time to compose herself.

She wet her hands and pressed her cool fingers against her eyelids. It wasn't as good as a cold compress but it would have to do. The roller towels had been freshly replaced and Winry dried her eyes by carefully dabbing at them with the fabric. Taking a few deep breaths, she surveyed her appearance in the mirror again. Her coloring wasn't as hectic though her eyes were still bright. Nothing could help that, she knew. Deciding she'd made Lieutenant Hawkeye wait long enough, Winry unlocked the door.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

Light stabbed into his eyes and he winced but pried his lids up again. Tears blurred his vision and he blinked them away, struggling to raise his arms. He'd need both hands to complete the circle, both hands –

"Brother, no!" Alphonse's shout echoed in his ears and he pulled himself free, clapping his hands, making the alchemic circle. The power rose up through him and he directed it, directed it to make his little brother whole again.

"Alphonse," he screamed or tried to, the name coming out weakly, barely audible even to him. "Al, did it work?"

No answer. No answer meant – no, it couldn't mean – "Alphonse!" he whimpered, his hand scraping over rough rocks.

"For a cripple, he seems very strong."

He remembered a city in ruins, a pretty girl's voice polluted by another's foulness; crushed metal armor.

"Miss Lizabet, it looks like he was fitted with that devilish automail. Hmmm." A sniff. "The metal on his shoulder and his stump appear to be the anchors for actual limbs."

"Devilish," the woman's voice repeated dryly.

His right arm dragged him down; so heavy, wracked with pain.

"I'm sure there are those people who might find him fascinating, with that metal. Hmmm. He took a blow to the head, doesn't look terribly serious. He may be dizzy for a while. Let me see."

Agony, slicing through his chest. Lust, impaling his lungs with her claws. He cried out.

"Appears that he may have broken ribs. I'll bandage those up for you."

Everything ached; everything felt loose in his body. Nothing seemed settled, not the world around him; certainly not whatever anchored him to this place. "Al?" he whispered. The darkness lurked in the corners of his eyes. He felt too tired to fight it off.

"Did he say something?"

"Hmmm, I'm not sure. It's a possibility. If you could help hold him upright so I can get this bandage around him…."

He felt like he was moving again, being put into some uncomfortable position. He let out a moan as something constricted around him. His head felt so heavy and the pain seemed to be swallowed up by the darkness. He thought he could see someone there, half-hidden in the shadows, smiling; beckoning. "Mom?" His lips cracked when he tried to smile at her. "Mom, is that you?" She opened her arms wide, her smile brilliant in all the gloom. He felt himself move towards her, nearly crying in his relief. "Mom!" Flinging himself into her arms, he held on tight. "I'm so glad to see you."

"Oh, Edward," she said, stroking his hair, catching his chin in her hands and suddenly yanking up so he could look into her lavender eyes; see her sharp fangs, "I've been waiting for you." She dragged him down into the darkness with her, clinging to him so he couldn't break free; muffling his cries.

* * *  
"Sir?" By the sound of it, Fuery stood at the corner of his desk, making sure not to block the view of the door. "I've got the forms you requested."

"Just put them on my desk, Fuery," Roy Mustang said, not taking his gaze off the window. He knew it was rude to keep his back to the Master Sergeant but right now, he didn't particularly care. Outside, the morning sun was coating everything with gold and birds were flying joyously in the sky. There were the faint sounds of people and vehicles making their way about Central. Roy knew if he opened the window, he'd be able to catch the scent of bread baking, that sweet, yeasty odor rising from the little bakery around the corner from the building. Life had a way of going on, regardless of who was no longer living it. Roy swallowed, knowing that in his desk, hidden away, was a slim book of research notes he'd taken ten years ago about human transformation.

Back then, Maes had talked him out of it. "You're not around now to do it," he said to the memory of his friend.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Fuery sounded hesitant, as well he might.

Roy closed his eyes. "Nothing, Master Sergeant. Just thinking out loud."

"Sir," Fuery began tentatively, "we all miss Ed – I mean, Lieutenant Colonel Elric."

"I know, Fuery." Roy swiveled around in his chair. "However, he died in the line of duty. He's been given the ceremonies due any hero." Bracing his hands on the desk blotter, Roy eyed the paperwork for the day. The temptation to set it on fire was there, as always. He hated paperwork and would do nearly anything to avoid it. Maes had always kidded him about it, saying that if he didn't procrastinate, it would be a lot easier to keep on top of the endless forms and requisitions and reports he was required to do. Roy was wondering just how much of it he could foist off on his men when the telephone rang.

"I'll get it, sir," Fuery said, reaching across the desk. "Colonel Mustang's office, Fuery speaking." He blinked a couple of times. "Yes, sir, he's right here." Covering the mouthpiece, Fuery said softly, "First Lieutenant Hawkeye, sir. She needs to speak to you."

Reaching for the telephone receiver, Roy wondered about that. Last he knew, Hawkeye had been in the anteroom, with the others. "Mustang," he said.

"Sir, I wanted to inform you that I found Winry Rockbell wandering the halls this morning. Staff Sergeant Enance had her cornered."

Enance was an irritating specimen, Roy knew, particularly to the women in the building. If Hawkeye had been in private, she would have referred to Enance in a more colorful manner. "I rather would suspect Miss Rockbell would be able to hold her own against him, considering some of her previous exploits." Maes had cheerfully recounted to him that Miss Rockbell was the only person able to keep the Elric brothers in some semblance of order. Maes' words ran through his mind: "She'd probably make a great officer, Roy. You ought to think about recruiting her." He'd never told Maes about his own relationship with the Rockbell family and now, the daughter was here in the building.

"Sir?" Hawkeye said, a sharp note of concern in her voice.

"Sorry, Lieutenant." Woolgathering was not something to do on the job, Roy reminded himself firmly, even though that's what he'd been doing since he arrived at the office this morning. "Did Miss Rockbell say what she wanted?"

"An appointment with you, sir."

That was what he was afraid of. "All right. I have some free time to see her." Besides, it would put off looking at the paperwork. Though on second thought, he wondered which would be more harrowing, talking to Winry Rockbell or clearing his desk.

While he was mentally debating that corundum, Hawkeye broke into his thoughts. "Sir, you might want to have that appointment on your calendar already."

"You're right, Lieutenant. I had forgotten about that appointment." Wouldn't want someone to just assume that Miss Rockbell had been wandering around the building without some sort of approval. It was one thing when Edward was alive – Roy ignored the pang that thought brought on – but without Fullmetal's sanction, the fact was that his mechanic had no real reason to be here. Except, Roy told himself, she probably had at least one. Probably two. Possibly three. "I'll be sure to rectify that."

"Thank you, sir."

There was a soft click as telephone connection was broken and Roy replaced the receiver in its cradle. "Fuery, do you know where my date book is?" He studied the paperwork on his desk in disgust.

"There's one in the anteroom, sir," Fuery said cautiously.

"Excellent. Go write in that I have an appointment with Winry Rockbell for," Roy checked the clock above the doorway, "five minutes from now. As far as you or anyone else knows, the appointment was made the day of the funeral. And I'll need the papers for Fullmetal's pension. I'd like to discuss them with Miss Rockbell."

"Sir?" Behind the glasses, Fuery's eyes were surprised.

"Get to it, Master Sergeant, now."

"Yes, sir." Snapping off a salute, Fuery exited Roy's office.

Roy folded his hands, resting his chin on his entwined fingers. He didn't have to be a soothsayer to guess that this meeting wasn't going to go well. Miss Rockbell was wise not to have called ahead. If she had, he might've been able to make an excuse to not see her. Cowardly, yes, he admitted it wholeheartedly but this was not a discussion he particularly wanted to have, not with this girl. Not now. "Probably not ever," he muttered. A weak part of him suggested that he show her his secret notebook but he was sure she wouldn't be impressed by the diagrams any more than Maes had been when he'd seen them. "And she'd probably hit me just as hard as you did, Maes."

It seemed that his friend replied cheerfully, "If not harder." Roy found himself nodding to the ghost of that voice. Miss Rockbell had experienced almost first-hand what happened in the attempt of human transformation.

A sound in the anteroom alerted him and Roy found himself rising from his chair. Face schooled to impassiveness, he could hear the muted greetings of his staff to Miss Rockbell and her polite replies. Walking stiffly to the doorway, he looked out of it at the pretty girl.

Winry wore a dress of pale blue, flowers scattered over that background. The hem swung around her calves, boots protecting her feet. Part of her hair was pulled up into a high ponytail, displaying the earrings she wore. Roy could hear the strain in her voice; could see the circles under her eyes and the lines around her mouth. Fuery looked almost like he was going to cry, just talking to her.

"Master Sergeant, why don't you go get some tea for Miss Rockbell?"

Fuery jumped in surprise but nodded. "Yes, sir, I'll do that. Excuse me, Miss Rockbell." He scurried out of the anteroom, the sounds of the office silencing in his wake.

Winry had turned as soon as Roy opened his mouth, appraising him. Roy didn't doubt that she found him wanting. He could see a smoldering rage banked in her eyes. His own expression didn't change as he said, "Miss Rockbell, I'm glad you could make our appointment. I'd hoped that Doctor Rockbell might've been able to attend with you but no matter." The girl's brow knitted in confusion and Roy went on smoothly before she could speak. The door to the anteroom remained open and he did not want any outbursts to reach the hallways. "If she has any questions when we finish our discussion, she can contact me." He gestured at Havoc. "Second Lieutenant, do you know if Fuery found the paperwork I requested?"

"Paperwork, Boss?" Havoc lipped a cigarette out of its pack, lighting it up.

"It's here, sir," Falman said, taking a folder off of Fuery's desk and handing it to Roy.

"Thank you. Miss Rockbell, please come into my office." He gestured for her to precede him. She did so with narrowed eyes and Roy pulled the door closed behind him. "Please, have a seat." Her wary gaze followed him as he laid the folder on top of his paperwork, sitting behind the desk. "I do appreciate you taking the time to see me."

"You and I both know I didn't have an appointment, Colonel Mustang," she said, her hands clenching into fists atop her knees.

Roy held up a finger as a knock sounded at the door. "Come in."

Fuery stepped inside with a cup on a saucer. "Excuse me," he said, making his way to Roy's desk. He handed the cup to Winry. "Is there anything else, sir?"

"Miss Rockbell, is there anything else you require from Master Sergeant Fuery?" He raised his eyebrows at her.

"No," she said directly to Fuery, "thank you."

"You're welcome, ma'am." Fuery gave her a tentative smile, shoving his glasses up his nose.

"I have the papers, Master Sergeant," Roy said, waving a hand at the folder. "Thank you for getting them ready."

"You're welcome, sir." Fuery beamed at the praise.

When he didn't move to leave the room, Roy prompted him. "That will be all."

"Oh, yes, sir." Fuery slipped back out of the office, closing the door behind him.

Roy said dryly, "I have to apologize, Miss Rockbell. The Master Sergeant should have asked if you'd like cream or sugar."

Winry set the cup on the bench seat next to her. "I'm fine," she said.

Roy kept his doubts on that to himself. "Then let's get to business, Miss Rockbell." He opened the folder, looking over the papers. Fuery had already filled in the blank spaces. Roy was glad someone was actually paying attention these days. "I'm sorry if this is difficult to discuss."

She looked ready to jump to her feet at that. This wasn't going to be difficult just for her, Roy thought. "I came here," she said, her voice under tight control, "to ask you about what happened in Ishbal eleven years ago."

Entwining his fingers, Roy looked over them at Winry. "I'm sorry, Miss Rockbell, but I cannot discuss that matter. What happened during that time is on record, as I'm sure you are aware. If you're asking about my part in it," he paused, meeting her gaze steadily, "I was under orders, the disobeying of which would have led to my court martial and, potentially, my execution as a traitor." He remembered the blood, so much blood; the husband trying to protect his wife, the horror stamped on their faces just before he pulled the trigger. Roy clenched his jaw muscles almost imperceptibly. That image was stamped permanently on his eyelids, one he saw nightly before going to sleep.

Across from him, Winry's hands knotted up, the tendons of her forearms standing out from the strain. "My parents were doctors. They were there, in Ishbal, under their own military orders. You're telling me the same military ordered their deaths?" Her voice rose in pitch and volume as she spoke and Roy didn't even bother wondering if she could be heard in the anteroom. He just hoped the words didn't carry into the hall or through the ventilation system.

"Miss Rockbell. I believe this meeting would be more worthwhile if we spoke in a different place. I know of a café where we can order breakfast. I'd like for you to accompany me there."

"I'm not hungry," Winry snapped, not quite as loud as previously. "And I don't want to go anywhere with you."

The door opened abruptly, Lieutenant Hawkeye stepping just through the space. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," she said, "but I just received word that you're about to have company. It would be best if Winry isn't found here."

Winry looked from Roy to Hawkeye and back again. "What sort of company?" she asked suspiciously.

Tension thrummed in Hawkeye's frame. "Enance has been spreading the word about you, I'm afraid."

"Damn it." Roy let a little of his own irritation bleed through in his words. "Miss Rockbell, we need to get you out of the building quickly." He drummed his fingers on the desktop. "I don't particularly want to deal with this 'company,' either."

"May I remind you, Colonel, that putting this off could only lead to larger problems later?" Hawkeye asked.

"Duly noted, Lieutenant. In the meantime, you might want to take your dog for a walk. And have Fuery go with you."

"Understood, sir," Hawkeye said, with a flicker of something in her eyes. She moved back into the anteroom.

"Miss Rockbell, I'm afraid at this point, I don't have the time to be polite." Roy took her upper arm and led her to the doorway. "Havoc, go requisition a car. Now. Breda? Falman? Why don't you take a nice, long lunch. Or maybe the rest of the day off."

"Yes, sir," Breda and Falman replied, exchanging glances as they rose from their desks.

Cigarette dangling from his mouth, Havoc was already calling the motor pool. "Yeah, Speed? Gonna need a car for the Boss. No, he wants to go somewhere. I'll be down to pick it up in about five. Thanks." Hanging up the receiver, he nodded. "Tell me where to meet you, Boss."

"It has to be the courtyard," Roy said. Splitting up was the better plan, he knew, but he wasn't sure whether keeping Winry with him was the best idea or whether he should send her with Havoc.

Breaking into his thoughts, Hawkeye said, "This is going to be considered rather unorthodox, sir."

"Can't be helped. We're in mourning for Edward Elric." Roy dared them to say anything about that. He met Hawkeye's gaze. "You're still here, Lieutenant. You need to be gone."

"Yes, sir." Hawkeye's brown eyes grew cold for a second before she and Fuery and that dog left the office. Havoc grabbed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from the corner of his desk, disappearing through the door.

Roy turned Winry to face him, laying both hands on her shoulders. "I know you have no reason to, Winry, but you have to trust me for your own safety. There are people here in this building who do not have your best interests at heart. You probably don't believe me, but I am a friend to both you and to Alphonse."

Winry's lips thinned but she abruptly nodded. "All right. For now, I'll trust you."

"Good girl." He squeezed her shoulders. "Wait here but if you see someone coming, hide. I've got to get something out of my office." Returning to his desk, Roy picked up the folder and hesitated. Unlocking the center drawer of his desk, he peeled a slim black notebook from the underside of the desktop, slipping it inside the folder. Quickly closing the drawer, he locked it again and swept out of his office. Winry had turned off the lights in the anteroom. Clever girl. "Could you hear anyone?"

"No."

"All right. We're going to go fast. Not too fast but we need to move quickly, before they've realized we've outmaneuvered them. Keep up with me. If we get separated, keep your eyes on the floor. The red line leads to the exits. Get to the front of the building and wait for Havoc to pick you up. Ready?"

Winry nodded.

"Good. Here, take this. Don't let anyone take it from you, all right?" He handed her the folder.

"I've got it." She raised her chin. "Is this going to get you into trouble?"

"Probably. But Alphonse would never forgive me if I let something happen to you while you were in my care." Roy checked the hallway, not seeing anyone. "Come on." He led her towards the back stairs. Archer would most likely come up the front stairs to pick up Enance. Roy hoped that Archer would send Armstrong to watch the back stairs. That way, he wouldn't have to go through any fancy talking to get Winry out of the building. He paused at a corner, peering around it. A few clerks were gossiping, nothing important. "All right. Down this hallway and take a right at the end of it. That leads to the stairs. Go all the way down – that takes you to the lowest level. There are a pair of doors there. You'll be able to see them from the stairs. Go outside and turn left to get to the front of the building."

"I understand." Winry carried the folder lightly; as if she was afraid it might bite.

"Excellent. Let's go." Roy placed his hand in the center of her back, feeling Winry shiver at the contact. She didn't protest, though, and they started down the hallway towards their freedom.

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

* * *

Pinako's hands were firmly planted on her hips as she glared at the boy in front of her. "Alphonse, you need to tell me where Winry's gotten off to."

Al lowered his head, refusing to meet the old woman's eyes. "She made me promise not to tell."

"Why, Al?" Mrs. Hughes sat on the sofa next to him. "What's so important that she left without telling us?"

"Uh," Alphonse said, sinking back, "I promised."

"Alphonse Elric, you will tell me where my granddaughter is," Pinako said, pointing the mouthpiece of her pipe at him, "or I promise you'll live to regret it." Al shivered, knowing that was not an idle threat.

"Um, hello?" Sciezca's voice called tentatively from the front door. "Where is everyone?"

"We're in the study," Al called back, using the distraction to slip away from Pinako and Mrs. Hughes. He knew Granny would follow him – she was tenacious like that – but at least he could escape her inquiries for a few seconds. "How was your visit with your mother?"

"Oh, it was good," Sciezca said, "we had a nice, long talk. Um, Doctor Pinako?" She had her hands clasped just under her chin, Al noticed as he joined her in the hallway.

"What is it, Sciezca?" Pinako asked, following Alphonse into the hall, Mrs. Hughes trailing behind.

"I, uh, well, Mrs. Hughes, this concerns you, too." Sciezca smiled nervously. "While I was visiting my mother, one of the men at the hospital overheard us talking." She lowered her gaze. "About Edward. He said he knew you, Al, that Winry played with his little sister."

"Who said this, Sciezca?" Pinako asked, folding her arms.

"He's an intern at the hospital."

"You said that already." Scowling at Sciezca, Pinako said, "Who is he?"

"He said his name is Michael Todd."

"Michael?" Alphonse scratched his head, his eyes widening suddenly in remembrance.

"Nelly is his little sister, Al." Pinako relaxed her stance a little. "You remember Nelly?"

"I remember Michael," Alphonse said with a shudder.

"What's wrong?" Sciezca asked, looking from Pinako to Al.

"Are you all right, Al?" Mrs. Hughes asked, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Michael was a bully," Alphonse said bluntly. "He picked on Ed, Winry and me, a lot."

"I don't remember that," Pinako said with a frown, tilting her head up to look at Alphonse.

"Ed told me not to tell," Alphonse realized what he'd said and sighed. "We kind of expected it, Granny. The kids at school made fun of us, all of us. Winry because of her parents, Ed because he was little and me because, well, because I was smart. Maybe because all of us were smart." He shrugged.

"What did Michael do to you?" Pinako asked, the wrinkles on her brow deepening.

"It was a long time ago, Granny," Alphonse said, squirming.

"Did you pay him back?" She poked him with her pipe.

"Granny!"

She grinned at his squawk. "What did you do?"

"Nothing!" Alphonse backed away from the waving pipe.

"You aren't nearly as good a liar as Edward," Mrs. Hugh said with a grin.

"Um, can I interrupt?" Sciezca asked, waving her hand. When they turned towards her, she went on. "Mr. Todd's waiting outside."

"He's what?" Mrs. Hughes shook her head. "Sciezca, that's not a polite thing to do, leaving someone alone like that when you invite him to visit."

Sciezca curled in on herself. "I know, Mrs. Hughes. I tried calling, I did! No one answered the telephone."

"That must've been when we were outside looking for Winry," Pinako said, using the opportunity to shoot a glare at Alphonse, who flinched at the look in her eyes.

"She's not here?" Sciezca yelped. "She didn't go to the Central Headquarters, did she?"

"Is there a reason she shouldn't have?" Pinako turned a gimlet eye on Sciezca.

Sciezca actually backed away from Pinako. "No, no reason at all, Doctor Pinako." She tried wave off the older woman. "I'm sure she's perfectly safe. You could ask Al, I'm sure he'd tell you the same!"

"I think we should talk to Mr. Todd," Mrs. Hughes said, stepping past Pinako and patting Sciezca on the shoulder. "It's rude to leave him outside, after all, when he came all the way here."

"I suppose it is," Pinako muttered. She poked Alphonse in the ribs, making him jump. "And after we see Michael, you're telling me everything that Winry told you. Got it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Alphonse said. He hoped Winry would be back by then. He really didn't want to go through Pinako's interrogation by himself.

* * *  
Pierce lowered the field glasses, making cryptic marks on a small notepad. The roof across the way made a good surveillance point for Miss Lizabet's house. Plus, the guards never looked up to notice him, proving his theory that people just never thought of anything bad coming from overhead. Pierce already had the rotation of the alley door guards. The passwords changed daily; knocks and taps and scrapes in different patterns. The house was quieter in the early morning – the very early morning – and at those times, Pierce dreamed of thermoses full of coffee.

It was more difficult finding out what the interior of the house was like. No one Pierce knew had ever actually been inside. Those people who had walked through the front doors were out of Pierce's class and therefore, unlikely to give him the information. The guards weren't stupid enough to be tricked into handing it out and Miss Lizabet's pay – and reputation – were enough to keep Pierce from attempting to bribe them for the house plans. Since he prized his own skin, he wasn't going to threaten any of the guards. That way madness lay, as the saying went. Or at least a severe beating. Pierce wasn't a second story man to climb through a window and even if he was, there was still the two-fold problem of getting inside and carrying Edward back out, all without being seen.

At least he now had a place to take Ed, if he could plan a way to get him out of the house. Pierce rubbed his chin, feeling the thick beard he'd grown. He stared at the back door and Orvi, who appeared to be amusing himself by counting how many times he could pitch a rock so it would bounce back to him. "I guess I have to become a guest." Pierce collected his equipment, wondering just how much money and what sort of disguise he'd need to get through the front door.

* * *  
Winry sat in the back seat of the car, staring at the folder on her lap. Next to her, Mustang leaned his cheek in his hand, staring out the window at the buildings passing by. In the driver's seat, Havoc had an elbow out the open window, letting fresh air flow through the car. Winry was glad of that. The cigarettes that Havoc smoked stank worse than Granny's pipe.

"Where we heading, Boss?" Havoc asked, glancing in the rearview mirror.

"Mm?" Mustang roused himself. "Oh." His black lacquer eyes blinked. "What was that café you told me about last week?"

"The Black Horse it is," Havoc said. He smoothly guided the car around a corner. No one said anything else until the car pulled up across the street from what Winry thought looked more like a tavern than a café. She climbed out of the car, tucking the folder under her arm. Mustang slammed his door, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Havoc leaned out the window. "Want me to wait, Boss?"

Mustang seemed to consider it. "Feel free to order yourself something. I'll call you over when Miss Rockbell and I have finished our discussion."

"Can do, Boss." Havoc touched his forehead with his forefinger then put the car into first gear, pulling away from Mustang and Winry.

"Miss Rockbell?" Mustang glanced back at her. "Shall we?" He started across the street without waiting for her answer.

Winry watched the car disappear around the corner. Presumably, Lieutenant Havoc was going to park the car. This was not what she'd expected but if she asked herself what she'd thought would happen, she had no real answer. Her choices were simple at this point – let Colonel Mustang speak his piece or find her way back to Mrs. Hughes' house. Raising her chin, Winry deliberately followed Mustang into the Black Horse.

Inside, it was dim, the morning sunlight not quite reaching through the windows yet. Waitresses moved around tables, bussing them or delivering food and drinks. A bar belted one wall, the kitchen just visible behind it. Bell containers covered pies and the smell of fresh coffee warmed the air. Winry noticed Mustang waiting by a table and moved to join him. He pulled a chair out for her. As she sat and adjusted her position, Mustang took the seat across from her and waved at one of the waitresses.

A brunette waitress appeared at the table. "Good morning, sir, ma'am. What can I get for you to drink? We have fruit juices, coffee and tea. Oh, and fresh tomato juice, just for today."

"Hot tea, please," Winry said.

"I'll have coffee." Mustang slouched a little in his chair.

The waitress nodded. "Any breakfast?" She rattled off the menu specials and waited with bright eyes and a sunny smile for their preferences.

Winry's stomach fluttered at the idea of food. "Just the tea, please."

"The coffee's fine for now." Mustang waited until the waitress brought their drinks and Winry had adjusted the taste of her tea with cream and sugar. "I'm sorry about the disturbance earlier but this is probably a better place for us to talk anyway." At her questioning glance, Mustang used his cup of coffee to indicate the café. "It'll be harder for anyone to eavesdrop here. The noise level's pretty high. We left the office partially because of that reason and partially because Colonel Frank Archer was on his way to see me, and, more importantly, you."

"Me?" Winry laid her spoon on the saucer.

Mustang nodded. "You ran into one of his aides, Master Sergeant Enance. You said something about meeting with me and Enance went to Archer with the information." He took a drink. "Hmm. Good coffee."

Winry took a sip of her tea as he watched. The hot liquid nearly burned the roof of her mouth. She was forced to suck in a cooling breath before she could ask, "Who is Colonel Archer?"

Tapping a finger on the tabletop, Mustang said, "Let me explain something to you first, Miss Rockbell. This has nothing to do with our earlier discussion and," he hesitated, "everything to do with why Edward was in Lior."

Setting down her tea before she dropped it, Winry leaned forward. "What about Edward?"

"I was trying to keep him out of the city," Mustang said grimly. "He and Alphonse had gone there previously and deposed a tyrant. Once they did that, they went on to their next mission. I got word that the tyrant had somehow managed to regain control of the city. Skirmishes broke out." He shifted in his seat. "I made a judgment call. I didn't tell Edward that Lior had become a battlefield. When he found out, well." Mustang's smirk was sardonic and directed at himself. "To say he took it badly would be an understatement."

Winry found she couldn't help but nod at that. "He went into Lior anyway, didn't he?"

"He went to Colonel Archer behind my back," Mustang said, a growl in his voice. "Archer approved Edward going to Lior on a reconnaissance mission."

"After you'd ordered him to stay away?" That sounded like Ed, too. Hot-tempered and stubborn, he wouldn't have wanted to obey any orders but the ones that would've gotten him into Lior to see for himself what had happened.

"Yes. Archer did take one precaution – he insisted that Alphonse remain behind." Taking a deep breath, Mustang said, "Alphonse disappeared shortly thereafter and I didn't see Edward again, Miss Rockbell. I'm sorry."

Picking up her spoon, Winry stirred her tea again, thinking on what she'd heard so far. "Why would Colonel Archer want to see me?" she asked.

"I would assume because of Alphonse." Those black eyes bored into hers. "Has he attempted any alchemy yet?" At Winry's headshake, Mustang said, "There's a good chance that Alphonse may have acquired Edward's ability with alchemy."

"And that would make him very interesting to the military, wouldn't it?" Winry asked sharply.

"Your closeness at Edward's funeral was noted, Miss Rockbell. You could be an effective tool to some in recruiting Alphonse."

"Are you telling me that I'm in danger?" Winry tossed the spoon into her cup, splashing tea. Her stomach twisted again as she remembered that creature of water with Tricia Elric's face.

"Yes." Mustang leaned across the table, catching her wrist and giving it a squeeze. "You and your grandmother; Alphonse. You need to leave Central as soon as you can."

"I think," Winry said grimly, "we need to have a real meeting, Colonel. I have information that you need to know." She glanced around the café. "Not here. I don't want to repeat myself." She swallowed, looking at Mustang's hand, still on her wrist. "I didn't get a chance to tell Ed. Maybe you can make something of it."

"Miss Rockbell," Mustang began.

"No. This is the way it has to be, Colonel. You're right, I'm in danger. I knew my coming back for Ed's funeral would attract someone's attention. Just not probably not the attention you thought." Gently disengaging her wrist, Winry stood up. "I need to return to Mrs. Hughes' house. Is there some way you can get your people there, without anyone noticing?"

The slow blink of his eyes was the only thing that showed Mustang's surprise at the request. "When?"

"This evening," Winry said with a nod. "It isn't much time but I don't think we can wait much longer."

Mustang got to his feet, picking up the folder and handing it to her. "I'll come over a little early, so we can discuss this. You, Alphonse, your grandmother and I need to go over these papers." He hesitated. "Miss Rockbell, about the other. About your parents."

Stiffening her spine, Winry tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Yes?"

"The notebook." He wagged the folder at her. "Alphonse will be able to help you decipher it." His smile was even more self-depreciating than before. "I've considered trying the equations in that book three times." Mustang seemed to consider what he said then added, "Havoc will take you to Mrs. Hughes' home. I'll contact you there about this evening."

Winry accepted the folder cautiously. She never liked riddles but right now, she just wanted to get out of this café. "Thank you, Colonel," she said, trying not to let her confusion show. Spinning on her foot, she walked out of the tavern, leaving the man standing at the table. She could feel his gaze pinned to the point between her shoulder blades and fought the urge to shudder.

Havoc was sitting at one of the outdoor tables, flirting with his waitress. Winry stopped next to the table. "You're supposed to take me to the Hughes' place," she said.

"What about the Boss?" Havoc gave her a look that might have appeared lazy if Winry hadn't seen a particular gleam of intelligence there.

"He didn't say."

Havoc shrugged. "Sorry, sweetheart. Guess we'll have to finish this conversation when duty isn't calling." He grinned at the waitress, leaving her a tip and a wink that made her blush. "Let's go, Miss Rockbell."

* * *   
There were periods of light and dark, both of them marked by pain. He wondered why it hurt so much, why the agony never seemed to end. But time passed and slowly, ever so slowly, the anguish lessened.

His eyes opened, showing him the glare of bright white that alternated with dim grey. This time, the brightness didn't sting, didn't make his eyes tear. He took a cautious breath, slowly expanding his lungs, feeling a tightness that at first didn't want to loosen. He persevered, taking deeper breaths, feeling the rise and fall of his chest.

Above his head, the ceiling was pale green, cracks rippling through the paint. It almost looked like a road map had been plastered to the ceiling, one without any names to mark anything. The light shade hanging from the center of it was frosted glass, dots of paint emphasizing whatever the design was supposed to be. Edward's head ached too much for him to try to figure it out. The ceiling wasn't at all familiar, making him frown. That hurt, too, so he relaxed as much as he could. Hospitals were usually that shade of green but it was far too noisy for him to think he was in a hospital room. Ed could hear laughter and music and other, somewhat lower pitched sounds filtering through the walls. Besides, the bed beneath him was way too soft to be a hospital bed and the blanket pulled over him was too colorful.

Ed tried to push himself upright, gasping at a wave of dizziness. It passed almost as quickly as it had struck but still left him lightheaded. He rested for a little while then twisted himself so his weight landed on his left elbow, using it to lever himself out of the soft mattress. Pain seemed to lick along his missing limbs, making the stump of his left leg twitch.

Breathing heavily, Edward tried to keep from throwing up. When the nausea passed, he managed to sit up the rest of the way, off balance without his automail leg and arm. Wriggling back to lean against the headboard, Ed ran his hand over his shoulder. "Winry's gonna kill me." Exploring the tightness around his head, his fingers brushed over a bandage. Edward let his eyes close, reaching for memories. Everything seemed fuzzy and muddied, as if it was a dream. He could almost swear that he'd heard Lieutenant Colonel Hughes talking to someone…maybe his mother?

"Al," he said, "you won't believe the crazy dream I had."

The lack of a reply made Edward twist in the bed. There was no sign of his brother anywhere. "Al?" The room was even more unfamiliar now that he looked at it, full of overstuffed furniture and diaphanous fabric draping over things. The scent of it was cloying, as if rather than the room being cleaned, incense or candles were burned instead. "Alphonse?" There wasn't any place for a suit of armor as large as Al's to hide, either. There appeared to be a tiny wardrobe shoved into a corner of the room and an elaborate vanity. Edward struggled to throw the blankets off, turning so his leg hung off the side of the bed. Hand resting on the side table for balance, Ed hopped off, the jolt feeling like it was going to pop off the top of his head. "Damn it," he said through gritted teeth. Someone's voice rose in his murky memories, saying something about him having a headache after but after what?

The sole of his foot was cushioned by rugs, the colors and placement of them running riot with the pale green of the room. The door seemed a long way from the bed but Ed was sure he could make it. All he had to do was keep his balance. He took a tentative hop and windmilled his arm, nearly falling back onto the bed. "So it isn't as easy as it looks." His head throbbed harder but he ignored the pain. He needed to find Alphonse, let his brother know he was going to live. Again.

His leg trembled and he knew it wouldn't support him for very long. Arm outstretched, he hopped twice, the surface of the rugs beneath his foot uneven. His toes caught on the edge of one of the rugs and he pitched forward, tucking and rolling the way Granny Pinako had taught him so long ago when he was first learning to use his automail. Landing on his shoulder, Ed somersaulted forward, ramming into the wall.

"Damn it." Ed rubbed his knee with a wince. His whole body felt jarred, the twisting awakening an ache in his ribs like a knife stuck there. "What happened to me?" Alphonse would know, Ed decided, if his brother would just walk through the door. He stared at it hopefully but it remained closed. Aborting a sigh when his ribs protested, Edward carefully maneuvered himself into a sitting position. The door was still a distance away, nothing to someone with two legs but as far as Ed was concerned, it might as well be halfway to Lior.

"Lior," he whispered, his eyes widening. A battlefield settled behind his vision. A city, destroyed from prior skirmishes. An array, carved into the ground and enemies surrounding him as he screamed his brother's name.

"No," Ed said, sucking in a breath, not even noticing the stab in his ribs. "Alphonse?" He scrabbled over the floor, cursing his handicaps, his chest and knee and elbow burning when they dragged over the rugs. "Alphonse! Al, where are you, damn it?"

The door swung open and Ed found himself staring at a pair of feet encased in soft slippers. His eyes tracked up short legs, clothed in black trousers to a round, soft body. Grey-black hair hung over a pair of ponderous breasts, emphasized by the bright green fabric swathing the woman's form. Her face was equally round with cheekbones jutting out as if they wanted to escape. Dark, long lashes surrounded equally dark eyes that stared down at him. "You're awake," she said as if surprised.

"Where's my brother?" Edward asked sharply.

"Brother? I don't know anything about a brother. They just brought you to me." The corners of her mouth were drawn down in a perpetual glower.

"What? Who brought me here?"

Something like a grin attempted to form on her face. It looked unnatural, like a fish trying to smile. "Pierce and Johns. By your expression, I'm guessing you don't know them. Too bad, they're lovely gentlemen."

"I was in a battle," Edward said tentatively.

"I'm sure you were." The woman looked over her shoulder. "Xandor, I need you to put him back in the bed." She moved out of the door to allow a man through it. He reminded Ed a little of Armstrong, bare chest and huge muscles. "Gently, Xandor," the woman said as he leaned over Ed.

"Yes, Miss Lizabet," Xandor rumbled and gathered Ed up like a bundle of clothing, carrying him to the bed and laying him back in it. Ed glared up at the man, hating being treated this way but the man just nodded to the woman and stepped back out of the room.

The woman, on the other hand, approached. "I'm Miss Lizabet," she said, pausing at the side of the bed, near Ed's foot.

"Look. I'm a State Alchemist. Shouldn't somebody be here to debrief me?" Ed asked.

She gave him that fishy look again. "You won't have to worry about that."

"You don't know my commanding officer," Edward said as Miss Lizabet stroked his foot with the tips of her fingers. He pulled his foot away as her hand continued to move over it. "Uh, what are you doing?"

Her teeth showed but if it was supposed to be a comforting smile, it was anything but. "Interesting."

"What? If this is a hospital, I'd like to see the doctor. And I need to get in touch with my automail mechanic. She's gonna kill me for losing my arm and leg. Is there a telephone I can use? I can pay for the call. And I really need to know where my brother, Alphonse, is." Glaring at the woman, Edward all but dared her to touch him again.

Miss Lizabet sighed. "I told you, you don't have to worry about that any more. I'll take care of you as long as you're a good boy."

Ed gaped at her. "What the hell?"

She pinched his thigh hard. "No foul language, pretty one."

"Ow, damn it, that hurt!" Her fingernails clamped onto his thigh again, twisting as well as pinching. Ed slapped her hand away from his flesh though she left gouges behind. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Don't you understand discipline?" Miss Lizabet's fish face was back though her dark eyes glittered at him and color flushed her cheekbones.

"You don't have any right to do that," Edward snapped.

"Silly boy, I do. You're mine now, just like every other person in this house. And I can do whatever I want to anyone under my roof." She leaned over him, so close that their foreheads nearly touched. "They gave you to me. There isn't any way for you to leave and nowhere for you to go. No one's going to be looking for you because everyone thinks you're dead." Her eyes sparkled as if she found the whole thing to be wildly funny.

"What do you mean, thinks I'm dead?" Edward asked, a trickle of fear working its way down his spine.

"By now, they'll have had your funeral," Miss Lizabet's fingers tickled over his stump and Ed twitched it out from under her hand. "Oh, I'm sure that they made you out to be a hero, pretty one." Her palm came back into contact with his stump and rubbed along it. Ed blocked her hand as it journeyed towards his crotch. She grabbed his wrist with her other hand, pulling it away. "Don't make me tie you up." At his gasp, Miss Lizabet said, "Or maybe you'd like that."

"Damn you," Edward said and got another twisting pinch for his choice of language. "That hurts!"

"Sometimes pain is the only way you learn anything," Miss Lizabet said. She held his wrist and leg in place with little effort, letting Ed wear himself out with his struggles to free himself. "You're stubborn, aren't you, pretty one?"

"You have no idea," Ed growled, bucking in an attempt to break loose.

She laughed, making her body shake. "I like the stubborn ones." Leaning in close again, she showed him her teeth. "Their submission is always the sweetest." Edward snapped at her face, barely missing her nose as she jerked back. "I can't have you doing that," she said, still maintaining her holds on him. Raising her voice, Miss Lizabet called Xandor back into the room.

"Yes, Miss Lizabet?"

"Call for Stefan, Xandor, then come and hold him down. But be careful, this one is a biter." Miss Lizabet only released Edward when Xandor's hands clamped down on his limbs. "There, now." She patted his thigh familiarly. "Let's get you something to chew on, shall we?" Waddling across the room, she unlocked the wardrobe and began rummaging in it. The view of the interior of the cabinet blocked by her body, Edward could still see a collection of whips hanging on the door. His stomach curdled. Where the hell was he?

"Here we are." Lizabet turned around, holding up a strap of leather that at first reminded Edward of a small belt until it moved in the woman's hands and he saw a flash of silver. "This should keep you from biting."

Another man came through the door, his bulky build offset by the light way he moved. "You called, Miss Lizabet?" he asked in a high-sounding voice.

"Stefan, I'll need you to help Xandor. Open the boy's mouth for me, so I can get this bit in there." Lizabet smiled openly at Edward's gasp. "Come now, pretty one, you didn't think I'd let you get away with biting, now did you?" To Stefan and Xandor, she added, "I think he should be strapped down, too. Even with only one leg, he's a little too mobile."

"You can't do this." Ed thrashed, trying to break free from Xandor's heavy hands. The man just tightened his grip, leaning his weight on top of Ed's knee. Leg immobilized, Stefan finished up by tightening a strap around Ed's ankle and looped it off on a bedpost.

"I don't think it's a matter of can't, pretty one," Lizabet said as Xandor and Stefan wrestled with Edward's arm, managing to tie that limb off as well. "I can and I will do whatever I want with you." She nodded and Stefan caught Edward's head, putting pressure on the jaw muscles. Ed fought it, jerking as hard as he could but the man was too strong. He finally managed to pry open Edward's mouth and as soon as his teeth parted, the metal bit was shoved between them. Xandor assisted with buckling the leather straps behind Edward's head and the trio stepped away from the bed.

Edward glared at all of them, tossing his head until he realized he must look like a restive horse.

"Much better. I think that I like you this way even more than when you were asleep." Lizabet's smile became cruel as she ran her fingernails over Ed's bare stomach. He twitched and writhed, trying to escape her touch. "Yes, pretty one, wear yourself out trying to get free," she said. Coming across a flush of strawberry, Lizabet scraped her nails over the rug burn. "I like the markings. They show up so nicely on your flesh."

Fury and fear building simultaneously, Ed swore behind the bit as Lizabet pinched him. Her cool fingernails trickled along his body, moving more lightly over the bandages but keeping in continuous contact. He shivered as she traced his breastbone and her eyes flicked up at his face. "You'll pattern up so pretty," Lizabet told him before twisting the skin on his forearm.

Ed only hoped his confusion at her words didn't show. He tugged at the bindings on his limbs as Lizabet continued her exploration of him, trying not to react at the liberties she took. Dread pooled in his stomach when Stefan licked his lips, surveying Edward as if he was some sort of delicacy. "Miss Lizabet?" he asked in his high-pitched voice. "Can I help you break him in?"

The woman eyed Edward before turning her attention to the large man. "I don't know, Stefan." She cocked her head to the side and patted Stefan's crotch familiarly. "You might break him."

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

Winry didn't even notice that Lieutenant Havoc had pulled the car up in front of the Hughes' house. Her fingers were pressed to her temples in attempt to ward off the headache threatening to rage. It took Havoc's, "Miss Rockbell?" to get her attention. "We're here."

Winry dropped her hands into her lap, looking up at the big house. She wondered how she'd be able to do this. Convincing Colonel Mustang was probably going to be easy compared to explaining to Granny. Realizing she couldn't wait any more, Winry pulled the lever to open the door. "Thank you for driving me," she said, stepping out of the car.

"You're welcome," Havoc said. "Tell Al I said 'hi', okay?"

Winry nodded at him, pushing the door closed. She waited until Havoc drove off before crossing the street. Squaring her shoulders, she pushed through the gate and made her way up the walk to the house. Opening the door, she stepped inside and braced herself. "Good morning?"

Pinako appeared almost like magic out of the great room, a scowl deepening the lines in her face. "Where have you been, young lady?" She poked a finger at Winry, a poor substitute for her pipe.

Clutching the folder like a shield, Winry took a step back. "I went to see Colonel Mustang, Granny," her voice firmer than her stance.

"Whatever for?" Pinako wasn't fond of the man who'd recruited her boys into the military.

"It's personal," Winry said then, at the expression on her grandmother's face, added, "I wanted to talk to him about Ed." Well, at least partially true.

"We'll discuss this later," Pinako said, not at all appeased with the explanation. "Right now, you have a guest."

The headache chose then to strike, making Winry wince. The only people she knew in Central were either in this house or hiding from Colonel Archer. "A guest?" she repeated.

Pointing with her chin, Pinako indicated she should go into the great room. Wanting nothing more than to go back upstairs and rest, Winry knew that wouldn't be allowed. Not until she spoke to this guest, whoever it might be, and then explained herself so her grandmother would understand why she'd gone to see Colonel Mustang. Allowing Pinako to herd her into the great room, Winry noticed Alphonse's tight smile first thing. She wished she knew what he was thinking; probably deciding what she owed him for her grandmother's interrogation. Sciezca's grin was tentative from where she sat on the sofa next to Al, across from Mrs. Hughes, who actually smiled warmly at the sight of her. Winry made her way to stand next to Mrs. Hughes. "I apologize," she said, lowering her head like a schoolgirl, the folder still in her hands. "I should have told you where I was going."

"We'll talk about that later, Winry," Mrs. Hughes said. She indicated the young man rising to his feet. Something about him looked vaguely familiar but Winry couldn't fathom why.

"Hello, Winry," he said in a low voice, reaching across the coffee table to offer her his hand.

She accepted it politely. "I'm afraid I don't know you, sir."

"This is Michael Todd," Pinako said as she made herself comfortable in her chair. "Sciezca met him at her mother's hospital."

"You're Nelly's brother," Winry said, surprised. She couldn't remember when she'd last seen him. Nelly talked about him, the letters that Michael sent her family, what he was learning. Winry hadn't really paid that much attention. She remembered Michael as the boy who'd made fun of her for not having parents. She disengaged her hand and sat abruptly on the stool next to Mrs. Hughes.

"You remember." His smile was genuinely pleased. "I help take care of Mrs. Harrison. I'm in training to become a doctor." Michael's expression sobered as he went on. "I overheard Miss Sciezca telling her mother about Edward passing away. I'm sorry about the imposition but I wanted to pay my respects to Alphonse and you. I remember how close you three were." He gestured at Alphonse, who shifted slightly at the recognition. "Edward was such a bright boy."

Winry swallowed, knotting her hands together on top of the folder. Alphonse cleared his throat. "Thank you," he said gruffly. "We appreciate it."

"Well, I don't want to be an imposition." Michael nodded at them all. "I'll be going. Thank you for the company, Mrs. Hughes, Doctor Rockbell. Miss Sciezca, I appreciate the introductions."

Sciezca smiled at him weakly, wriggling her fingers in farewell. "Thank you for walking me home, Mr. Todd."

Alphonse stood up to shake hands with Michael. "Alphonse. I'd like a chance to see you again, you and Miss Rockbell, if you have time while you're here in Central. I don't know many people here. It would be nice to talk to someone who knows what it's like to cut hay and gather eggs in the morning." He glanced at Winry. "I don't want to put any pressure on either of you, though. I understand if you don't feel up to it." He nodded again. "Thank you for the coffee, Mrs. Hughes."

"You're welcome, Mr. Todd."

A small parade followed Michael to the door, seeing him off. Thanks and farewells spoken again, they watched as he walked out of the gate. Michael waved one last time as he disappeared behind the wall.

Pinako rounded on Winry, poking her in the ribs. "Explain yourself, Winry."

"Later, Granny." Winry realized she was still carrying the folder as she faced her friends and family. "Mrs. Hughes, I hope you don't mind. Colonel Mustang and some of his men are coming by tonight."

"Winry," Pinako said, disappointed.

"It's important, Granny. I wouldn't ask if it weren't." She looked between the two older women. "If it's all right, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I don't mind, Winry," Mrs. Hughes touched her forearm lightly. "But why?"

Winry gestured to her friend. "Sciezca and I found out something the last time I was in Central." Sciezca flushed and grinned nervously as everyone turned to look at her. "It's important that the Colonel know."

Alphonse said, "I have something he needs to know, too, Winry. I don't know how much help it'll be but," his lips thinned, "at least it's something."

He exchanged a look with Winry as she said, "I think we should make plans to leave Central soon, Granny. Colonel Mustang wasn't sure how safe we'd be here."

Mrs. Hughes' fingers tightened on Winry's wrist. "Perhaps we should go inside." She shooed the group through the door and into the house like chickens. Glancing out towards the street, Mrs. Hughes closed the door behind them, making sure the latch caught. With only a short hesitation, she turned the lock. Walking past the hall table, she stopped, picking up a photo of Maes. Mrs. Hughes laid her fingertips on the cool glass. "Darling," she said softly, "it's begun."

* * *   
The office was closed for the day as far as those who worked within Central's HQ were concerned. There were those who worked the night shift, though, and a Master Sergeant noted in the logbook that Lieutenant Juliet Douglas arrived at eight forty-five p.m. She smiled graciously and went directly to her desk in the anteroom of the Fuhrer's chambers. Pausing to make sure that no one else was in the room, she crossed to the office door, rapping her knuckles on the wood.

"Come in," boomed a familiar voice and she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. "Well. I'm glad to see you're back, Lieutenant. Your replacement doesn't have your deft touch with my duty roster."

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, sir," she said, crossing the room to stand in front of his desk. "The assignment you sent me on took a little longer than expected."

Pride leaned an elbow on the magnificent desk in front of him. "Is that so? You were able to accomplish it without any real problems?"

Sloth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "None to speak of. Fortunately, my grieving mother act worked and no one suspected anything. The Fullmetal boy certainly has a mouth on him, though." She sat on the edge of the desk, folding her arms.

"I'm sure it's being put to good use by now," Pride said with a leer. "From what I hear, that whorehouse we sent him to will make short work of him."

"As long as he stays alive in some form or another," Sloth reminded her colleague sharply. "We may need to use him as leverage in the future."

"If that had actually been a consideration, we would have kept him closer. There are perfectly good dungeons below this building." Pride tapped the desktop with a forefinger. "I know. I've explored many of them."

"Yes and those two girls nearly found me out in one of the access tunnels," Sloth reminded him. "When I say 'close', I mean still within Amestris."

"Father wanted him out of the way." Pride pursed his mouth thoughtfully. "Creata was his choice, as well as Fullmetal's current location. If the boy is broken, all the easier for us to make use of him later."

Sloth considered this and nodded, albeit reluctantly. "I still believe we should have easier access to him."

"Already taken care of." Smiling that benevolent smile, Pride said, "I've reassigned someone we can trust to the Creata – Amestris border." At Sloth's questioning look, he added, "Brigadier General Sherman is on his way out there now. You know, he really loves the border towns."

"And the compensations he can get from them," Sloth breathed, realizing that Fullmetal now had an effective watchdog as well. "Excellent plan."

"Thank you." Pride inclined his head, accepting her praise without irony.

She studied the desk calendar laid out in front of him. "How did the funeral go?"

"There was much sorrow and wailing," Pride said, leaning back in the chair and lacing his hands behind his head. "Fullmetal's brother is human again."

"What?" Sloth jerked her head up at that information. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"I like the look of surprise on your face." Teeth showing beneath his thick mustache, Pride went on. "Mustang found him, half-buried in Lior. Seems that the alchemic array did more than just destroy Envy, Gluttony and Lust."

"The Philosopher's Stones," Sloth breathed, touching her lips in remembrance of the stone within her own body. "Fullmetal was able to transmute his brother's body without equivalent exchange."

"Exactly." Pride shrugged. "Or, without any cost to himself. We, on the other hand, lost our brothers and sister."

"Has Father said anything about it?"

Pride grinned. "I have the feeling that's why he requested Fullmetal be sent where he is."

Sloth fingered her lower lip, considering. "If the brother considers returning Fullmetal to life, it could go badly for us."

"I think he's learned his lesson," Pride said. "But there is the possibility he's nearly as powerful as Fullmetal."

"Alchemy without a transmutation circle," Sloth breathed, considering the possibilities.

Nodding at that conclusion, Pride sat up straight, dropping his hands onto the desktop. "Mustang recruited Fullmetal, I suppose I should send him to talk to the brother. Archer probably wants the boy under his control." He and Sloth exchanged a look at that idea. "Archer has Kimbley, though, and Kimbley does not like the boy." Pride rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I doubt he'd want to talk to me, considering what happened outside of Lior with the chimera in his armor."

"Do we know if that snake had a chance to tell the boy about you?" Sloth asked sharply, her gaze flicking to the eye patch that hid Pride's ouroboros.

"Sadly, no." Pride shook his head. "He was too distraught to actually react to me at the funeral. It's possible that he doesn't remember it. Who knows what memories one might lose, becoming human again?"

They exchanged a look at that. "If he does remember something," Sloth said, sitting on the corner of the desk, "it could go badly for us. Somehow, I doubt that's something the boy would forget to mention to Mustang, either."

"Let's not go borrowing trouble just yet," Pride said. "We can plan for certain contingencies." He pulled a file out of a pile on his desk. "From what I understand," he said, opening the file, "the brother will be going to live in the country with a Doctor Pinako Rockbell in Rezembool. The doctor has a granddaughter who was the mechanic for the Fullmetal boy. From the way she and the brother were hanging on each other at the funeral, I'd say they're very close." He pulled out a grainy photograph, passing it to Sloth.

Sloth stared at the picture, nonplussed. "I've seen this girl," she said quietly. "When I discovered someone was tapping the telephone lines, listening in to my conversations, I went looking for who it might be." She flipped the photo around to show it to Pride. "I found this girl. She's very clever, Pride, not to mention foolhardy. If she's in league with the brother, you can be sure that he knows what she's seen."

"Your true form," Pride muttered.

"Careful," Sloth snarled at him. "There are too few of us as is."

"If she knows what you are," Pride said, ignoring her, "we may need to act that much more quickly."

"How? We don't have Envy or Lust to assist us. Wrath is too hot-tempered at this point to be of much use." She gestured at her chest, where she kept the youngest of the homunculi. "We need to talk to Father."

Pride glared at her. "Father did say that the Fullmetal boy was to remain alive. I'm sure he'll feel the same about the brother."

"That does leave the girl." Sloth waved the photo at him as a reminder. "If we control her, there's a good chance she could control the brother."

"She was here earlier today," Pride said, "visiting Mustang. At least, that's the word that filtered up through Archer. He was unhappy, shall we say, that he didn't get a chance to speak to the girl himself."

"Disappointing for him. She escaped him that quickly?" Sloth tossed the photo back into the file.

Pride tapped the photo in an avuncular manner. "Surprisingly, she and all of Mustang's men vanished before Archer made it to their offices. No one knows where they've gotten off to." Holding up a hand to forestall Sloth's outburst, he said, "I know what a dangerous time this could be for us but think – how can they actually prove something like this?"

"Archer has Shou Tucker under his control," Sloth reminded her compatriot.

"Archer wants power," Pride said. "He'll fall into line with whatever we tell him to believe."

"Then what do we do about Mustang?" Sloth folded her arms. "One man can make a difference. Hughes started figuring things out," she said darkly.

"And we took care of him."

"Envy took care of him." Sloth slipped off the desk, pacing towards the door. "One man's death isn't anything for people to concern themselves with. A command unit dying or disappearing at the same time? That would raise questions."

Pride smiled. "Perhaps, then, we should do something so Mustang doesn't have the ability to cause us any problems." He flipped through the file, pausing on the page with information about Fullmetal's last mission. "Fullmetal may be a hero, Sloth, but the mission itself could be considered a failure."

Turning back to the desk, Sloth chuckled. "You're suggesting putting Colonel Mustang on trial? For what?"

Pride spread his hands, smiling. "It seems he didn't want Fullmetal to go into Lior, though the boy had the best chance of finding out what was going on. At least, according to Colonel Archer. Not making use of the available resources? I'd say that's an action unbecoming an officer." His eyes narrowed. "Not to mention that he held back when Archer was ready to move forward on the city. That could count for cowardice, don't you think? Either way, whatever happens to him afterwards would happen to a private citizen." He raised his eyes to meet Sloth's. "And you know what they say about cutting off the head of a snake, my dear."

Sloth's laughter rang about the office in reply.

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

* * *

The door opened and the overhead light came on, making Edward blink. His eyes tried to react to the intensity of the light as he braced himself for whatever was going to happen next.

"Awake, pretty one?" Miss Lizabet sailed through the door, moving lightly for someone as heavy as she was, followed by a tall, pretty girl with dark, curly hair who wore a short silk robe. At a gesture from Miss Lizabet, the girl went to the wardrobe, folding her hands, her head lowered.

Ed tossed his head, eyeing Lizabet. She tugged at the bindings on his ankle, her fingernails teasing the arch of his foot. When he twitched his leg, the woman's dark eyes glittered. "Ticklish?" She scratched lightly at his foot.

Nervous laughter escaped from behind the bit in Edward's mouth. Lizabet tested her fingernails on the back of his knee and lightly dragged them back down to his foot. Edward shook with involuntary laughter. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had touched him this way. The light scraping of nails over his flesh felt nothing like Pinako's or Winry's clinical touches.

Lizabet swept her fingertips over his ribs, neatly avoiding the bindings and Edward tried to writhe away. He twisted like a kite at the end of a string, tears leaking from his eyes. Finally, Lizabet stepped away from the bed, giving Edward a chance to catch his breath. She studied him critically as he shuddered under her regard, his chest heaving.

"Margot, clean him up." Lizabet dusted off her hands, barely glancing at the girl.

"Yes, ma'am." The girl bobbed her head and disappeared out of the doorway.

"You have such pretty skin." Lizabet stroked Ed's stomach lightly. He shivered at her touch, especially when she ran the tip of her finger around his navel. "Goose pimples," she laughed, dipping her finger into his belly button.

Edward gulped as Lizabet smoothed the pad of her center finger in a line below his navel. She traced the waistband of his shorts, her gaze riveted on his eyes. "Your coloring," Lizabet said. "It's like every little touch is reflected in your face." She smiled that strange, fish-like smile. "My customers are going to love you." Lizabet took hold of his shorts, ripping them down.

Glaring at her impotently, Ed clenched his teeth tight on the bit. "Whatever you're going to do, get on with it," he tried to say, the words garbled. Daring her with his eyes, he twisted his mouth around the metal.

Lizabet's hand descended, skimming lightly over his penis. She grasped his shaft firmly, pumping twice. "I don't expect much yet," she told him. "That bump on your head and those broken ribs, well, the doctor said it'd be a little while yet before I could offer you up. But that doesn't mean we can't get in some training." Edward fought not to shudder at her gleeful expression. Lizabet held his gaze with her own as she toyed with the head. The vicious pinch forced a muffled cry out of him and he swore at Lizabet, blinking hard.

"Tears, pretty one?" Lizabet crooned, combing through his short, dark gold curls. Her fingernails tickled over his testicles.

Edward's stump jerked and shuddered as Lizabet pinched the soft skin of his inner thigh and twisted. He yelped as she marked the other thigh the same way. Kneading his flesh like bread dough, Lizabet didn't even bother looking as the door creaked. "Margot," she said, "bring me a pair of clamps."

"Yes, ma'am."

There was a rustling sound and the girl appeared next to Lizabet, staring down at Ed curiously. She offered two silver items, a chain running between them, on the palm of her hand. Lizabet plucked one of them up, holding it in front of Ed's face. Squeezing it, she showed how it opened up. Leaning forward, Lizabet roughly plucked at Edward's nipple until it hardened. "Oh, lovely," she said and pinched the cold metal jaws over the pearl of flesh. He jerked in pain, his bangs falling in his eyes as he panted heavily. She repeated the action and patted Ed's cheek lightly. The chain was cold and tickled his chest.

"I see the hatred, pretty one." Lizabet adjusted one of the clamps, the new tug on his skin making Ed wince. "I've seen it before." Turning away from him, she focused on the girl. "Make him pretty, Margot."

"Yes, ma'am."

"I'll leave you to it." Lizabet patted the girl's cheek in the same familiar way and left the room.

Margot waited until the door was closed and crept to it, listening. "She's gone. We should be all right for a little while." Rolling up the sleeves of her robe, she quickly crossed the room and undid the nipple clamps, tossing them onto the table next to the bed. "I could get into a lot of trouble doing this," Margot said as she reached around Edward's head, unbuckling the bit and carefully pulling it away.

Ed spat the metal out of his mouth, working his jaw and tongue. "Thank you," he managed to croak out.

Margot gave him a smile. "Trust me, I know how you feel." She quickly undid the bindings around his wrist and ankle. "When I was first brought here," she shook her head so her curls spilled over her shoulders, "I don't even want to think about it. Oh, wait." She stepped away, returning with a cup. "You've got to be thirsty." Margot slipped a hand under his shoulders, helping him up enough to drink easily.

The water slid down his dry throat and Ed gulped thirstily. "I'll get you some more if you'd like," Margot said, sitting on the bed to wipe his chin with the sleeve of her robe.

"I'm okay," Edward panted. He flicked his eyes towards his midsection. "Uh, is there anything I can cover myself with?"

"Oh!" Margot set the cup aside, shrugging. "I'm sorry. I'm so used to seeing, I forgot you're new." Twisting around, she pulled out a towel, draping it over Edward.

"Thanks." He wriggled around, flexing his muscles, trying to work out the pins and needles. The pain in his ribs caused him to wince when he twisted but he knew it had lessened somewhat since Sloth had drugged him. "I'm Edward."

"Margot, but you know that by now." Her grin was fleeting but easy. "What happened to you?" She gestured at the bandages.

"I was in a fight," Ed said with a frown, picking at the bedding underneath him. It was slick and he didn't like the way he slid over it. "I think I was losing." He glanced at Margot, who arched her eyebrows.

"Is that how you lost," her voice trailed off as she waved at his shoulder, the automail port visible.

"No." Shaking his head still wasn't a good idea, Ed realized. "This," he touched his shoulder, indicated his leg, "this is old. The fight, that's recent. I'm a State Alchemist, Margot. I was in a little town called Lior, in a battle. My brother was with me." He paused, shooting her a look. "His name is Alphonse – he's wearing a suit of armor about three times my size."

Margot shrugged and shook her head. "You were brought here alone. I don't know anything about a brother."

Worry settled in Edward's stomach, clenching it into a knot. What had happened to Al? A flash of a memory, of hearing Al's voice echoing in the armor, came to him but he couldn't remember the rest of it. Something had gone wrong, hadn't it? Something more than whatever brought him here. He let out his breath in a hiss. He needed to get back to Lior, start his search there. Like that was going to be possible without his automail. He was next to useless without it.

"Then what?" Margot cocked her head interestedly.

"Uh," Ed scrambled mentally to remember what they were talking about. "I was on a train with…a woman. She said she was my mother but she isn't. She drugged me and the next thing I knew for sure was waking up here. Wherever this is."

"Miss Lizabet's place." Margot glanced towards the door and slid off the bed. "I'd better get you ready before she comes to check on us, too."

"Margot." Edward caught her wrist before she could move away. "Can you help me? I need to let someone know where I am so I can get out of here."

Gently pulling free, Margot said, "You don't understand, Edward. No one gets out of Miss Lizabet's. Not me, not you." She waved around the room in an indication of everything beyond it. "Not anyone but the guests. Now, I need to get you ready." She brought a pitcher and bowl from the washstand back to the bed, balancing them on the mattress. "Don't knock this over, Edward." Margot poured water into the bowl and pulled out a dripping washcloth and a bar of soap. "I've been told I give very good baths," she said, working the soap into the cloth.

"I don't need a bath, damn it, I need to get word to someone." Ed blocked Margot's hand as she started to wash his chest. "There are people looking for me, don't you understand?"

Margot sighed, tossing the cloth back in the bowl. "I don't think you understand, Edward," she said, snatching the towel off his middle. Ignoring his yelp and subsequent reaching to cover himself, she wiped her hands dry. "There is no where else as far as you're concerned, not anymore. Once you came through the door, you became Miss Lizabet's property." She held out her hand, palm up. "Give me your hand."

"Why?" Ed asked, tensing his forearm.

"Here, you can have the towel." Margot glanced towards the ceiling in exasperation. "It's not like I haven't seen it all before, Edward." She flipped the slightly damp towel over his upper thighs and when he removed his hand, grabbed his wrist.

"Hey!" Ed tried to jerk free but Margot planted her feet, both hands wrapped around his forearm. She was stronger than her slender build would let him believe, climbing onto the bed and using the weight of her knee to pin his wrist back against the headboard.

"If you'd been a good boy, Edward," Margot said, lashing his arm down, "maybe this wouldn't have to happen." Finishing off by tying his wrist to the bedpost, Margot slithered down to anchor his ankle back into place.

"Margot," Edward said angrily, fighting to keep his leg free. His struggle didn't seem to hinder the girl at all. "You can't do this!"

"Oh, Edward," Margot sighed as she knotted his ankle back in place. Turning to face him, she straddled his hips. "Miss Lizabet's right, you know." Margot tapped his chest lightly then, rising up on her knees, pulled the towel out from between her legs. "You're so expressive." She wriggled against him and Ed gasped, realizing that she wore nothing beneath her robe. Hot, moist flesh pressed against him. Margot smiled as she reached between his legs, tickling the head of his cock.

"D-damn it," Edward whispered, hating that his body was reacting to her touch. "Stop it, Margot."

"Why?" She rocked lightly. "I think you like this, Edward." Her laugh was low and throaty. "Actually, I know you like it." Margot leaned over him, her curly hair curtaining them off from the room. "What else do you like, I wonder?" Curling her upper body, she sealed her mouth around his nipple.

Ed sucked in a breath, his eyes closing at the sensations coursing through him. It felt like a current, running from the touch of Margot's tongue across his nipple down to his lengthening cock. Margot licked her way to his other nipple, laving the hardening nub of flesh. Ed managed to drag his eyes open, staring at her. "Please," he breathed, not even sure what he was pleading for.

Margot smiled in reply, drawing designs on his chest with her fingertips. Arching her back, she pulled herself upright, rubbing herself against his cock. She trailed her fingers up his chest again and suddenly pinched both nipples, twisting his flesh.

Yelping, Ed bucked against the pain. "Very nice, Edward," she all but purred, grinding against him. Chest tightening, Ed swore at Margot but she ignored the words, replacing the clamps on his nipples. She tugged lightly on the chain connecting them, forcing Ed's back to arch. "So pretty." Margot rolled her hips up, swinging off of him to run a finger along his throbbing shaft.

His hips jerked up at that touch. "S-stop it," Ed stuttered, swallowing hard at the conflict of his mind and body. He'd never felt this engorged, had rarely even allowed the consideration of what reaction someone else's touch might have on his flesh. He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of fantasies, not while Alphonse was trapped with a body of armor. Edward's renegade flesh had sometimes betrayed him in the past, even as it was doing now. The pain focused his attention to the pleasure of Margot's fingers, brushing tantalizingly along his shaft and he strained up against the bindings, trying to increase the pressure of her touch.

Margot took her fingers away, smiling at him. "Are you sure you want me to stop?" she asked, stroking along the valley between her breasts.

"Yes," Edward managed to growl, his cock betraying him by bobbing when she brushed the head with the back of her knuckles.

Laughing, she ran a finger along his flushed, hardened flesh. "Don't lie, Edward, your body won't keep your secrets." Stroking a hand over his chest, Margot said, "Your coloring shows off everything so well. You're going to be such a prize for Miss Lizabet. Everyone will want you."

"Damn you," Ed got out.

"You know, Miss Lizabet doesn't like swearing," Margot said, wagging a finger at him. "I'll let it pass, since it's really your first day but you should know, she will punish you for foul language." Her green-gold eyes seemed to sparkle at the idea.

"She can do her worst." Edward yanked at the leather strapping his wrist down in impotent fury. "So can you."

"Now that just sounds like a challenge." Margot tugged at the knot holding her robe closed, pulling the silky belt free. "It's amazing what you can do with these. In a pinch, you can use them to tie someone up. Of course, you're already bound. Or you can use them as a gag." She smiled prettily. "Oh, I wanted to thank you for not trying to bite me. Somehow, I think you would've fought the bit harder than you did me tying you up." Tightening the belt between her hands, she sharply pulled at it twice. "You might like this, though."

"Doubtful," Ed bit out, knowing that his body might have a different reaction than what he wanted.

Margot just smiled, stroking the slippery fabric, so like the bedding under him, down over his chest and stomach. She dragged it over his leg, completely avoiding his penis, taking the fabric down to his foot and then starting back up again. When she reached his stump, she moved the belt over, wrapping it around his thigh and then gently pulling it free. Margot trailed the ends of the belt over his arousal, making Ed clench his teeth to contain a groan. The chain between his nipples shivered on his chest with his efforts to remain still.

Doubling the belt, Margot looped it beneath his testicles, tugging at them, pulling them up against the base of his penis. Tying the belt, she slowly began crisscrossing the fabric around his flesh snuggly, leaving the head free when she reached it, then wrapping the belt back down, tying if off. Eying her handiwork critically, Margot watched as Ed's cock jerked, the slit weeping.

Ed wasn't sure if he could even breathe. His chest felt like it was on fire where the clamps held his nipples, the chain slithering and catching over his heated skin. His cock felt as if it was going to explode, the pulse in it echoing in his ears. All the nerves in his body seemed to be concentrated in his chest and between his legs. "Damn it," he choked, "what are you doing to me?"

Margot climbed off the bed, grinning at Ed over her shoulder. "Don't you remember, Edward?" She walked to the wardrobe, opening it to sweep a hand over the selection of whips hanging on the door. "Miss Lizabet told me to get you ready." Margot picked up a short-handled whip with lashes dangling from it. She flipped it so the lashes whistled through the air. "What's your preference, Edward? The flogger?" She wagged it at him before tossing it onto the bed. "Or the cane?" Margot raised a bamboo stick, bending it between her hands as she approached. "It's your choice." Her smile was wicked as she climbed onto the bed, adding, "This time, at least."

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

* * *

Alphonse looked up from the notebook as Winry paced around the room. Her eyebrows were knotted together, her hands gesturing as if she was carrying on a conversation. She wasn't saying anything, at least not so he could hear. "Winry?" He repeated her name twice before she actually heard him, coming to sit next to him on the bed. "I think I've figured it out."

He hated the way she looked with dark circles under her eyes and deep lines around her mouth. Alphonse was sure he wasn't in any better shape. Neither of them had been sleeping well. He knew Winry could pull all-nighters; she'd complained of them often enough when working on Ed's automail. But now she seemed to be running on the ragged edge of nervous energy, not quite able to stop. Since Colonel Mustang and his men had dragged Al out of the suit of armor that had once been his body, he'd only slept when exhaustion managed to claim him. Neither of them had completely succumbed since they'd heard what had happened to Edward.

"What is it, Al?" Winry asked, trying to compose herself. She tangled her fingers together though her right leg bounced with the effort to keep still.

Alphonse knew that feeling, too; the desire to run until you left everything behind; all the memories and the sorrow and the pain. Sighing, he opened the book to the first page, moving so he could lay it across their laps. "Colonel Mustang was doing research into forbidden alchemy," he said quietly. "I can't read his notes, Winry, they're in code." He pointed to scribbles about women and their likes and dislikes. Winry's frown deepened. "But here," Al turned towards the back of the book, showing her an alchemic array drawn out, "this isn't translated. He left this as is." Raising his head, Al waited until Winry met his eyes. "There's more," Alphonse said, flipping the pages. "He doesn't write in code here." Al tapped the page lightly, drawing her attention to the words.

"That – those are my parents' names," Winry breathed. She reached out tentatively then jerked her fingers away, as if she was afraid they'd be burned.

"Uh, huh. And there's this." Al reluctantly turned two more pages, showing her a photograph.

Winry swallowed, recognizing herself as a child in the picture, the paper gouged and scarred and bloodstained. "Oh, god."

Alphonse silently flipped through the book, stopping on another photograph, this one of Maes Hughes and Mustang, both of them smiling broadly. It took a closer look to realize that Hughes' grin was decidedly wicked and that the butt of a rifle appeared over Mustang's shoulder. Whatever they'd been up to just before the picture was snapped, it was obviously no good. Al turned to the final page in the book, where a furious Edward snarled at whoever had interrupted his meal to take a picture of him. Winry contemplated the photo for a few seconds then raised her gaze to Al, her eyes full of the answers to her unvoiced questions. "Al," she said, drawing out his name, as if she'd already started putting the pieces of the puzzle together and just wanted his confirmation before sliding the last piece into place.

"You said that Colonel Mustang told you he'd considered using this book three times," Alphonse said quietly, turning back to that first alchemic array that had been drawn in the book. "This is the same array that Ed and I, that we used to try to bring back Mom."

Winry bit her lower lip. "He thought about bringing back Mom and Dad," she murmured. "And Mr. Hughes." She flipped through the pages, pausing at each photograph, the tips of her fingers hovering over the paper, finally turning to the last page, though she didn't study the picture of Ed as she had the previous two photos. Instead, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, standing up and walking away from the bed. Alphonse alone stared at his brother's indignation, frozen forever on a piece of paper.

"Edward wouldn't have wanted to leave you," Winry said to the door, or maybe the wall. It was hard to tell, with her back to Alphonse. "But he made his decision. It was a good one." Alphonse wasn't sure if she tried to convince him or herself or was just saying the thought out loud, testing whether it was something she'd be able to repeat later. Regardless, her shoulders squared and her head came up. Winry wiped her eyes again and turned around, her hands tightened into fists.

The sound of someone knocking carried upstairs. Alphonse heard voices, recognizing Mrs. Hughes and Colonel Mustang. Closing the book on Ed's photo, Al laid it gently on the bed. Getting up, he joined the girl standing in front of the door. Winry was strong, Al knew, and nearly as scary as Teacher when she got angry. Now, she trembled, her hands clenching and unclenching. "Winry, can you do this?"

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she nodded fiercely. "We'd better get downstairs. I heard Colonel Mustang. He wanted to see us and Granny before the others got here." With a final dash of her hand over her eyes, Winry opened the door and stepped through it.

Al glanced at the book on the bed, returning to pick it up. He wouldn't leave it out for Mrs. Hughes, or worse, Elicia, to find. Tucking the slim volume under his arm, he followed Winry down the stairs to the front hallway, where Colonel Mustang stood with Mrs. Hughes. Al didn't quite hesitate on the stairs but it was something of a shock to see the Colonel out of his military clothing in black slacks and a white button-down shirt. Lieutenant Hawkeye was with him, her hair loose around her shoulders, dressed in warm shades of brown and tan, a gold chain around her neck.

"Hello, Alphonse, Miss Rockbell," Mustang said, raising his head at their approach.

"Colonel," Al said, "Lieutenant Hawkeye." He rested his palm in the center of Winry's back, urging her on down the stairs.

"Hi," she said, not quite looking at any of the adults. "Um, Mrs. Hughes, I thought I'd get some tea or coffee started?"

"Why don't I do that, Winry? You two can show our guests into the study." Mrs. Hughes smiled at Winry and Al. "Roy said that he'd like to talk to you and your grandmother. I'll get her for you." She left them in the hallway, a knot of discomfort.

"I'm sorry I haven't stopped by earlier, Winry, Alphonse," Hawkeye said, reaching out to take their hands in her own.

"Maybe we should go into the study," Al said hesitantly.

"I'll go help Gracia," Hawkeye said, squeezing Al's hand. She nodded to Winry and to Mustang and walked away.

"It's this way." Al gestured with his head, leading the way into study. When they were seated, Alphonse laid the notebook on the table between them. "Colonel, Winry showed me your book."

"Yes, I asked her to," Mustang said, crossing his legs. Somehow, he looked at ease. Al wondered just how much that cost the older man. He could read people well but looking at the Colonel was sometimes like looking at a mask. "Miss Rockbell," he turned his dark gaze to her, "I hope it explains a few things."

Out of the corner of his eye, Alphonse saw her bob her head abruptly. "As much as that can answer anything." Her voice was tight.

Mustang lowered his gaze slightly, a faint smirk showing; his mask firmly in place. "I suppose it isn't exactly the information you wanted, Miss Rockbell. I apologize for that." He folded his hands, pressing his forefingers against his mouth.

Alphonse had seen that particular pose many times before, usually across a desk, with Edward fuming beside him. The pang of that memory struck through him like lightning and he swallowed. "You said that you needed to see us," Al managed to say past the knot in his throat.

"Yes, that's true." Mustang glanced at the notebook. "Where is the folder, Miss Rockbell?"

Winry glanced at Al. "I'll get it." Leaping to her feet, she hurried out of the room. Alphonse could track her progress by the sound of her running up the stairs.

"How are you doing, Alphonse?" He blinked, surprised, turning towards the Colonel. Mustang studied him closely and Alphonse put up with the scrutiny. "That well," Mustang said.

"There's so much," Al said quietly, staring down at his hands, entwined in his lap. "So much to deal with. I have a body again." He raised one hand up in front of his face, turning it, flexing it, reveling in the actual feeling of movement of muscles and joints and flesh wrapped over all of it. "It's amazing. To feel the sun on my face, a breeze in my hair. To be able to taste Mrs. Hughes' pies." He inhaled deeply. "To recognize that smell of motor oil and metal shavings." He tilted his head back, as if he could look through the ceiling to see Winry, rummaging around to find the folder. "I just thought my brother would be here to share this with me."

Mustang was saved having to answer as Pinako walked into the room. She nodded curtly at their visitor. "Colonel Mustang."

He rose politely. "Doctor Rockbell."

"My granddaughter said that you needed to see us before whatever it is that she's set up for this evening." Pinako hopped into a chair, her face settled into dark lines.

"Yes. I appreciate you allowing this meeting." Mustang sat back down, rolling up the cuffs of his shirt so he didn't have to look at either of them.

"I don't think that Winry would've let me say no." Pinako gave her granddaughter a resigned look as Winry returned to the room, the folder in hand.

"Here it is," she said, handing it to Mustang before she sat on the sofa next to Alphonse.

"Thank you." Mustang opened it, turning it so the trio would be able to read the information. "This is in regards to Edward. I know this is difficult to discuss for you. It…isn't any easier for me. I know you probably won't believe that but it is the truth."

"I believe you, sir," Alphonse said, ignoring Pinako's glare. Winry just twisted her fingers together.

"Thank you, Alphonse." Mustang regarded the file between them. "The papers in front of you are in regards to the pension for Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric."

"Ed has a pension?" Pinako asked, leaning closer to the paperwork and adjusting her glasses.

"What does that mean?" Winry asked, glancing up at Mustang.

"It means that, as Edward's surviving family, Alphonse is due recompense for the death of his brother, in the form of a monthly pension. I took the liberty of getting the paperwork together."

Alphonse sat stunned, trying to understand what the Colonel was saying. Beside him, Winry made a choked noise and he automatically reached for her hand. "So," she said, her voice bitter, "this is the apology for Ed's death?"

"Winry," Pinako said tiredly, "listen to what the Colonel has to say."

"Thank you, Doctor Rockbell." Mustang inclined his head to her. "Miss Rockbell, this is not an apology." He sounded sardonic as he said, "The military doesn't apologize, after all. This is a way to help Alphonse." He paused, reaching over to tap the paperwork. "And you, too."

"Me?" Winry scowled.

"When Edward completed the paperwork naming his beneficiaries, he listed both Alphonse and you." Mustang turned to Pinako. "Doctor Rockbell, as their guardian, the funds will come to you in their names."

Al and Winry exchanged long looks. "Winry?" he asked softly.

She shook her head, blinking her eyes rapidly. "It doesn't seem right," she whispered.

Pinako picked up the folder, studying the paperwork closely. "Everything looks in order," she said, flicking a glance over the top of the papers at Mustang.

He nodded. "My staff are very thorough."

"It's like blood money," Winry muttered, not quite under her breath.

"You can use it however you wish, Miss Rockbell," Mustang said. "For all I care, you could give it to orphans." He shrugged eloquently. "The fact remains that Edward wanted you to have the funds if anything should happen to him."

Alphonse squeezed Winry's hand. "Brother was trying to take care of us. It…it's a good idea." He hoped he didn't sound as dubious about it as he thought he did.

"If nothing else, we can put it into a bank," Pinako said, "if you two don't want to use it. Someday, maybe it'll come in handy." She closed the folder and motioned for Alphonse to take it. He obeyed but put the folder on the table on top of the notebook, not really wanting to hold on to it.

A knock came at the door and Mrs. Hughes called, "Could someone get that, please?"

"I'll go," Alphonse said, rising quickly. He went down the hall and checked through the peephole, seeing Lieutenant Havoc watching the street, a trail of smoke marking his position. Opening the door, he forced a smile. "Hi, Lieutenant," Alphonse said, "come in."

"Thanks, Al. It's nice to see you again." Havoc tossed the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, leaning over to pick up the butt. "Mrs. Hughes hates cigarettes," he said. "Doesn't want 'em around Elicia. Not that I blame her." Patting Al on the shoulder, he entered the house, glancing around. "Anybody else here?"

"Colonel Mustang is in the study and Lieutenant Hawkeye's helping out Mrs. Hughes in the kitchen." Alphonse led Havoc towards the study.

"Where's the kid?" Havoc fished a toothpick out of a pocket and tossed it into his mouth as a replacement.

"Upstairs with Sciezca, reading." Alphonse nodded towards the stairs.

"I hear this is supposed to be something big," Havoc said, cocking an eyebrow at Al.

"Yeah, well, we want to get everyone together before we talk about it," Al said, rubbing his neck. "You might as well go into the study." He popped through the doorway. "Lieutenant Havoc's here. I'm going to check on Mrs. Hughes and see if she needs any more help."

"Hey, Boss," Havoc said, stepping into the room. "Miss Rockbell."

Alphonse could hear Winry say, "Lieutenant Havoc, this is my grandmother, Doctor Pinako Rockbell," as he hurried on to the kitchen. It felt good to get away, even for just a few seconds, to not have to deal with the tension in the study. Al entered the kitchen, seeing the two women holding steaming cups, obviously in the middle of a discussion. "I'm not interrupting, am I?" he asked.

"No, of course not, Al," Mrs. Hughes said, beckoning to him. "Riza and I were just catching up. Girl talk." She smiled at Lieutenant Hawkeye.

"I just wanted to let you know that Lieutenant Havoc is here," Alphonse said. "I guess everyone else should be coming soon?" He raised his eyebrows at Hawkeye questioningly.

The lieutenant set her cup on the counter. "If Havoc's here, the others shouldn't be too far behind. What can I do to help, Gracia?"

"The cake needs to be cut and, Al, if you could get the sugar bowl and creamer out of the cabinet over there?" Gracia indicated which one with a nod of her head. "Oh, there's the door."

"I can get it," Al said, heading back to the front door.

More knocks came and eventually, the rest of Mustang's command appeared. Sciezca and Elicia came downstairs to say hello and have a piece of cake. The small talk was stilted and came in fits and starts. Elicia insisted on sitting on Winry's lap while she ate. Alphonse thought it was a good thing, keeping Winry focused. It made him wish Elicia had wanted to sit on his lap. She might have kept him from thinking about the things that had happened before Edward worked his last alchemic transmutation.

Alphonse closed his eyes tightly at that. "I can do this," he said, so softly that his voice didn't carry.

Mrs. Hughes eventually pried Elicia out of Winry's lap and led her upstairs. Sciezca trailed after, having volunteered to keep Elicia busy while the others talked. Winry collected the plates and brought out fresh coffee and tea for those who wanted it. By the time Mrs. Hughes returned to the study, the room had fallen tense and silent, with glances being exchanged or avoided.

Somehow managing to ignore the tension, Mrs. Hughes cut across the room to take her seat next to Lieutenant Hawkeye. Sitting and arranging her skirt, she picked up her cup and took a sip of her coffee. "Well, Winry? Everyone's here now."

Her mouth tight, Winry stood up. Tangling her fingers together, she took a deep breath and said, "I wanted everyone here to tell you something that Sciezca and I saw." Winry shot Mrs. Hughes an apologetic glance. "Sciezca was trying to figure out who shot Mr. Hughes."

"I told that girl to leave it alone," Colonel Mustang growled, his hand clenched in a fist.

Winry shrugged at Sciezca's disobedience. "When I was last in Central, Sciezca told me what she'd found out – that Mr. Hughes was researching someone named Juliet Douglas." Slowly, Winry began walking around the room, her head lowered so she didn't have to meet anyone's eyes. "Juliet Douglas was the person who's credited with starting the war in Ishbal."

"Credited," Havoc said almost at the same time as Hawkeye said, "Fuhrer King Bradley's aide is named Juliet Douglas."

Pausing, Winry met the Lieutenant's gaze levelly. "The same Juliet Douglas has been in the military records since the war."

"But I've seen Lieutenant Douglas," Fuery said, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

"Yeah, she's gorgeous," Havoc said, yipping when Hawkeye elbowed him.

"Sciezca and I decided to try to find out more about the lieutenant," Winry said. "We hooked into her telephone line so we could listen in to her conversations."

"Do you have any idea what the penalties are for bugging a military line?" Mustang asked, though the question carried a darkly humorous note.

Her chin lifting, Winry went on. "We thought we might find out something about Mr. Hughes. Or about some of Lieutenant Douglas' telephone calls. They didn't make sense. She was making calls to Lior." Her hands fisted at the name of the city. "But somehow, someone knew that we were listening. What found us," Winry's voice trailed off and she shook her head, as if trying to erase some image from her mind. "We were in an access shaft beneath the building." She stopped behind Alphonse and he craned around to look at her. "Some…thing got in the shaft with us. It looked like a living body of water."

"A what?" Breda asked, his eyes widening.

Alphonse sucked in a breath. "A homunculus," he said, barely breaking a whisper.

Winry swallowed, meeting his eyes. "I didn't know how to get in touch with you and Ed, Al. I wanted to tell you because the water changed its shape while we were trying to get away from it." She moved her hand so it rested on Al's shoulder. "It had a face like your Mom's."

"I knew it." Alphonse grabbed her wrist, holding it tightly. "I told Edward. I told him." He turned back around to the room. "We saw her, heard her voice. She could be Mom's twin." He paused, adding bleakly, "She could be Mom."

"Your mother's dead, though," Falman said, leaning his elbows on his knees, his eyebrows lowering.

Breda, next to him, shuddered violently. "The Fuhrer has a ghost for an aide?"

"Not a ghost, a homunculus," Alphonse said, letting go of Winry. "There're reasons why human transformation is forbidden to alchemists." He sighed. "When we tried to bring Mom back, we got something that wasn't human."

"I buried that," Pinako said, her mouth worked, "that mistake."

"You did, Granny," Alphonse said in agreement, "but we'd brought something else to life. Sort of life. When an alchemist tries to bring someone dead back, a homunculus is formed. Brother and I met some – Envy, Greed, Lust and Gluttony."

"And Miss Izumi's little boy," Winry added.

"Teacher didn't tell us not to try to bring Mom back. Even if she had, we may've tried anyway. We missed Mom so much." Al folded his hands together. Almost everyone in this room had lost someone equally as important in their lives. Surely they understood the pain he and Edward had felt. "After Lab Five, Brother told Lieutenant Colonel – sorry, Brigadier General Hughes about the homunculi." Al glanced back at Winry. "He must have figured something out, maybe the same thing that you and Sciezca did."

"And you didn't tell this to anyone else?" Mustang asked through clenched teeth.

Alphonse shrugged. "We weren't sure who to trust at that point, Colonel. Besides, we were told not to talk about it. But there's more." He waited a few seconds, trying not to think, just to be able to speak. "The chimera, Martel, she was helping me and Edward. She wanted to kill Kimbley because he murdered her friends. While she was chasing after him outside of Lior, something happened. Martel saw something and she came back to tell me. She was scared, really frightened," Alphonse had to take a breath before he could go on. "I – I told her to hide in my armor and she said she saw something and she wanted me to tell Brother. Before she could tell me what she'd seen, Fuhrer Bradley, he," biting his lip, Al hoping the pain would steady him, "he came up and thrust his sword down into my armor and, and," his voice trickled off.

Winry leaned over the back of the sofa, wrapping her arms around him. Alphonse caught hold of her hands, holding them tightly. So much blood, he thought; so much blood, pouring out of his armor. He hadn't even felt her inside of his chest cavity, hadn't been able tell when she died. Martel had died trapped inside of him, a place he'd thought she'd be safe.

"You don't know what she saw, Al?" Hawkeye asked, her voice seeming to come from a great distance away.

Dragging himself back to the present, Alphonse shook his head, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. "Martel didn't have a chance to tell me. But…maybe it had something to do with Lieutenant Douglas. What if the Fuhrer knows she's a homunculus?"

That question stopped everyone for a few seconds, each person considering that implication. Finally, Havoc pointed his toothpick across the room at Alphonse.   
"Why do these homunculi want anything to do with you, Al?"

"They want the Philosopher's Stone," Winry said when Al didn't answer immediately. "Ed told me at the hospital, when I was working on his automail."

"But I don't need it any more." Alphonse leaned back, feeling Winry's hands on his shoulders again.

"That may not stop them from hunting you down, Al." Mustang's expression was grim. "Have you even tried using your alchemy since we found you?"

Feeling a cold chill, Alphonse said, "No." He could hear Teacher's voice, asking Edward, "Have you see that thing?" The Gate loomed large in his memory, a sudden thing, as perilous as Galahad's chair. The images, everything he saw through the opening, suddenly exploded behind his eyes again. Alphonse shivered and stood up, feeling everyone's eyes on him as he stiffly walked to the fireplace. Laying a log on the hearth, Alphonse clapped his hands.

The power jolted through him, heady, addictive. Had Edward felt this, Alphonse wondered, had his brother felt as if he could touch the sky; change the world? Al knew he'd never know the answer but could not mourn, not now. And yet, the feelings came through in what his alchemy carved from the wood – Edward's image; shoulders thrown back, hands shoved deep in his pockets, his cocky, familiar, beloved grin turned towards the world. Alphonse dropped onto his backside, slowly turning to face the rest of the room.

Colonel Mustang pinched the bridge of his nose, as if to ward off a headache. "Alchemy without a circle."

"It's beautiful, Alphonse," Mrs. Hughes said wonderingly. Al tried to return her smile as best he could.

"You're now their best chance to get the stone, Alphonse," Mustang said, dropping his hands onto his knees. "You're not a part of the military so assigning you guards is out of the question. Central isn't the safest place for any of you." His gaze took in Pinako and Winry.

"You think they'd use one of us to make Al do what they want?" Pinako leaned forward in her chair, her fingers tightening on the armrests.

"Without a doubt, Doctor Rockbell," Mustang said, his mouth a grim line.

"Lust had me as a hostage in Lab Five," Alphonse said quietly, "trying to get Brother to make the stone then."

Pinako clenched her jaw. "That's it. Winry, Al, you and Sciezca are getting out of this city tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Winry squeaked.

"You're going home, all of you. I want you out of range for what happens next." Pinako's beady eyes fixed on Mustang. "You know if we're gone, they'll come after you, Colonel. You're the one who recruited Ed. You found Al in that city. You've tried to keep them safe." Pointing at the Colonel, Pinako said, "Next to Al, you might be the one who knows the most about that damn stone."

Hawkeye turned her penetrating gaze from Pinako to Mustang. "Not to mention your investigation, sir. If someone even has a suspicion about it, it could go badly for you."

"We've been careful," Mustang said, rising to his feet as if he couldn't stay seated any longer. He moved jerkily to the fireplace, squatting next to Alphonse. Reaching out to the statue, Mustang didn't quite touch it, his fingers skimming the air around it.

"Maybe not careful enough, sir," Hawkeye said. She touched Mrs. Hughes' wrist in apology. "Your friendship with Brigadier General Hughes was too well-known."

"You've been investigating Maes' death, Roy?" Mrs. Hughes asked softly.

Across from Alphonse, Mustang's mouth curled. "Only in the most oblique ways, Gracia. It seems that Miss Rockbell and Sciezca are far better detectives than I've been."

"Colonel, you can't let yourself be taken, either," Alphonse said seriously.

"Or you need to make them think that you know nothing, that you aren't a threat to them," Pinako said briskly.

"How do you propose that?" Mustang asked, not even bothering to turn around.

Pinako eyed the back of the Colonel's head. "I'm going to request an inquiry into Ed's death."

The words fell like a stone into water, the ripples of them touching everyone in the room. Al hugged himself, squeezing his eyes shut. He could hear the reactions, first the silence then the buzz as everyone spoke at once. Al couldn't make out the individual voices, the noise soft but overwhelming.

"I think it's a good idea," Mustang's words cut through the chatter, though he barely spoke above a whisper.

"Sir?" Havoc asked, shocked. "What about your plans?"

Mrs. Hughes cleared her throat. "Roy, Maes would say that your life is more important than any plans you might have."

Alphonse opened his eyes, finding himself staring directly into Mustang's. The older man didn't even seem to notice him. "You're right, Gracia. He would want me to live, wouldn't he?"

Hawkeye sounded stern as she said, "You know what this could mean to your career, sir."

"Oh, yes." The Colonel met her eyes directly across the room then turned his gaze to Pinako.

"But, sir," Breda said, scowling ferociously. "There has to be another way."

"If you can think of it, Breda, please let me know." Mustang got to his feet as if he were suddenly older than Pinako. "I believe there is nothing more to discuss tonight." He reached out to Mrs. Hughes. "Gracia, you are a wonderful hostess, as always. Thank you for allowing us to meet here."

"You know that you're always welcome here, Roy," Mrs. Hughes said as she rose, obviously determined to provide a point of stability in the room. She held the Colonel's hand in both of hers, smiling at him. The rest of the men got up, making their goodbyes, thanking Mrs. Hughes for her company. Havoc offered to pick up Elicia and take her to the park one day. Fuery asked for the recipe for the cake for his mother. It almost seemed to Alphonse as if they were trying to make it normal, knowing that from this second on, it never would be normal again.

Lieutenant Hawkeye waited for the Colonel as he said his farewells to Pinako and Alphonse, hesitating in front of Winry. She slipped past him, picking up the black notebook and holding it out to him. "Maybe," Mustang said, his voice dry, "it would be best if you kept hold of that for the time being, Miss Rockbell." He nodded once more and turned on his heel, following Hawkeye down the hall and out the front door.

"What's that?" Pinako asked as Mrs. Hughes went after to close the door. She eyed the notebook suspiciously. "Why's he giving it to you?"

Winry let out something like a strangled laugh. "I guess so he doesn't do something stupid." She cradled the book against her chest, shaking her head.

Alphonse went to her, touching her shoulder. "C'mon, Winry. I think it's time for you to go to sleep." He nodded at Pinako and Mrs. Hughes. "I'll be back down to help clean up," he said to the older woman.

Pinako's face sagged. "It's all right, Al. You probably need the rest, too. You'll need to be up early to pack anyway."

Guiding Winry up the stairs, Al sent her into the room she shared with Sciezca. "Try to get some rest, Winry." He couldn't, wouldn't tell her that it would be better in the morning. As he turned to leave, she grabbed his wrist, holding him in the doorway.

"Al," she whispered shakily, "we can't really bring anyone back, can we?" Winry held the book out between them.

Swallowing, Alphonse shook his head. "No, Winry. Not even as much as we want to, we can't bring someone back. Life only goes one way." He gently pushed the book back towards her. "Teacher said that people who die have to live on in the memories of those who loved them."

Winry nodded, her bangs hiding her eyes. "That's what I thought." She cradled the book against her again. "But I had to ask, Al. Don't be angry at me."

"I'm not." Al cupped her face in his hands, wiping away her tears with his thumbs. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Go to sleep, Winry. I'm right next door if you need me."

Bobbing her head, Winry stepped back into the room and Al pulled the door to behind her. He rested his forehead against the panel for a few seconds, hearing a childish voice chanting in his mind, "Hydrogen, ten percent. Carbon, eighteen percent…." With a low moan, Al pushed away from the door and went into his own room. He dropped onto the bed, covering his head with the pillow in hopes of drowning out the voices in his memories.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

* * *

"Sir," Hawkeye asked, "are you sure about this?"

Roy ignored the paperwork on his desk, dreading even opening the first folder. There didn't seem to be any point in it. Turning his chair to the window, he stared out over the city. The morning was grey, the sun a faint, pearlescent sheen in the sky. "Lieutenant, you were there. Everything we discussed," he waved a hand in a spiral, "it all makes perfect sense." Roy could just make out his reflection in the glass panes and tested a smile on it. It didn't fit any better than anything else seemed to this day.

"Sir, you are an excellent officer," Hawkeye said without her usual brusqueness. "I've followed you willingly but this."

Roy could see her reflection shaking its head. "You don't have to follow me down this path, Lieutenant." He watched her stiffen in the panes of glass.

"Sir," Hawkeye began.

Making up his mind, Roy waved her to silence. "Have Havoc bring around a car."

"Sir?" Hawkeye took a step closer to him. "You have work to do."

"I'm sure it will be here when I return." Roy lowered his head. "I'll meet Havoc in the courtyard in ten minutes."

"But, sir," Hawkeye protested. He could imagine the glare she was giving him. As it was, Hawkeye's reflection was only a vague outline, an impression of the woman.

"The work will be here when I get back," Roy said patiently. "Tell Havoc I'll meet him in the courtyard in ten minutes."

There was a sound behind him, one telling Roy that Hawkeye had left the office. Probably in a huff, he thought, from her sharp footfalls. Sighing, he pressed his fingertips against the cool glass. Turning abruptly, Roy reached into the lower left desk drawer, pulling out a pint of whiskey. Gathering up his overcoat, he slid the bottle into his pocket and walked out of his office.

Hawkeye was hanging up the telephone and turned to face him. "Havoc will meet you in the courtyard, sir."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Slipping the coat on, Roy continued out of the anteroom and into the hallway. It felt almost like playing hooky from school, though this was not a pleasure trip. Quickly making his way out of the building, Roy spotted Havoc pulling a car around. Jogging down the stairs, Roy opened the back door and slid inside.

"Where to, Boss?" Havoc asked, turning halfway around to smile at Roy. His grin didn't falter, even at Roy's bleak expression.

"That little flower shop first," Roy said, "you know the one." He slouched down in the seat.

"Sure thing." Havoc put the car in gear and drove out of the courtyard.

Roy stared out the window at the buildings. Usually, the sunlight would highlight the colors but the murky clouds overhead suited him better. The flower shop was a spot of brightness fighting a losing battle against a dismal day. "I won't be long," Roy said, getting out of the car. "Just wait here."

"You got it." Havoc took the break to light a new cigarette off the old.

Roy picked out the flowers he wanted, paid for them and climbed back into the car. "The cemetery, Havoc."

Raising his eyes to the rearview mirror, Havoc nodded without comment, for once. Roy knew that would come later, probably back at the office when Hawkeye could light into him as well. He knew none of his staff liked the idea of him taking a fall. He didn't like it either but maybe it would be some recompense for the sins he'd committed.

Knowing better than to offer to go with Roy, Havoc let him off at the cemetery gates. This was a private affair, after all. The comforting weight of the bottle in his pocket, Roy strolled along the crushed gravel paths, a route he'd taken more times than he really cared to think about.

Two figures crouched near where Maes was buried. Somehow, Roy wasn't surprised. It almost felt as if he'd expected to find them there. As he approached, Winry rose to her feet, leaving Alphonse kneeling next to his brother's headstone. Folding her arms as she drew near, Winry kept her head lowered. The weak sunlight vied with the morning gold of her hair and lost.

"Good morning," Roy said, in his most noncommittal voice.

Winry tilted her head back to view the clouds then brought her gaze back to Roy. "We thought we should," she waved a hand back towards Alphonse, "say goodbye, since we don't know when we might be back."

"I'm surprised your grandmother let you out alone," Roy said, scanning the area for Doctor Rockbell and not spotting her.

Smiling grimly, Winry said, "We'll be in for it when we get back to Mrs. Hughes' house."

With a gesture, Roy mutely asked her to join him. Her hesitation lasted only as long as it took for her to visually check on Alphonse. Roy handed her one of the bouquets he'd chosen and Winry clutched the tulips gently. The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked on to another marker, cutting across the lush, dew-soaked grass. Winry held back as Roy leaned over the stone.

"So much for you pushing me to the top, Maes," he said quietly, laying the flowers against the headstone. "I'm going to do something stupid. Maybe it'll lead to something better, though." Roy touched the stone, the cold granite in no way comforting to him. "I wish you were here. I need you, damn it." Roy closed his eyes, listening for Maes' voice in his head. The morning breeze mocked his efforts and finally, hearing nothing, he straightened. Pressing his fingers to the stone one last time, Roy faced Winry. She had moved a little away, giving him some privacy.

As he joined her, Winry said, "These are lovely." She adjusted a few of the red tulips. "We didn't know where to get flowers, so." She shrugged, letting the words fade out.

"You're welcome to those," Roy told her.

"Thank you," Winry said, giving him a curious look.

Roy gestured towards Alphonse. "I bought them for Edward. He'd probably prefer you leaving them than me."

The girl made no move to go to Alphonse, instead, facing him more fully. "Mr. Hughes meant a lot to you."

Roy thrust his hands in his pockets, the bottle moving under his fingers. The cool glass was almost soothing, a promise that he could fade the pain, weaken it, at least for a little while. "Maes Hughes was my best friend."

Winry nodded. "I know how it feels to lose your best friend." She tucked her hair back behind her ear as the wind tried to pull it free again.

"I'm sorry that you have to know such a thing." Roy met her eyes.

She held his gaze steadily as she said, "I've tried to hate you, Colonel. You took my parents from me. You recruited Ed and now," Winry shook her head.

"I did my best to keep him safe," Roy said, clenching his hand around the bottle. "It didn't work."

"I wanted to doubt that you'd tried. But Mrs. Hughes and Al both told me about you. They both think you're a good man and I have to trust them. And even Mr. Hughes. He cared about you. Riza, she does, too. She told me once that she'd follow her orders, even if she disagreed with them." Winry took a steadying breath. "I think you regret killing my parents."

Nonplussed that she had found that secret out, Roy said quietly, "I do."

"I can't forgive you." Winry dashed a hand over her eyes. "But I can't hate you." She turned away from him. "Granny's sending us home and we're going today, like she wanted. I know the investigation isn't what you want but I think she's right. You know too much. And Al, well, he might need your help again." Her expression fierce, Winry said, "I might need your help. So you need to stay alive."

Roy swallowed against the lump in his throat. "You're a very gracious young woman, Miss Rockbell."

She huffed in reply. "I'm not. And my name is Winry."

"Miss Rockbell!"

They both turned, seeing Major Armstrong striding through the cemetery. He stopped at the appropriate distance, saluting. "Colonel Mustang. I didn't expect to find you here."

Roy nodded. "At ease, Major."

Armstrong turned his attention to Winry. "Miss Rockbell, I wanted to tell you how sorry I am about Edward Elric."

The corner of her mouth twitched and Winry lowered her head. "Thank you, Major," she said quietly. "Al would probably like to see you." She gestured and both man followed the motion towards Ed's headstone. "Al, Major Armstrong is here."

Alphonse got up, turning around to face the group. "Hello, Major Armstrong. Hello, Colonel Mustang."

"Oh, Alphonse Elric," Armstrong cried, sweeping the boy into his arms and hugging him tightly, "I am so sorry about your loss. For you to gain your body at the price of your older brother's life, it's so very sad." Tears streamed down his cheeks. Al struggled and coughed and when the major set him down, Al collapsed, whooping for breath.

Winry shoved the flowers into Roy's hands, going to Alphonse and patting his back. "Just breathe," she told him.

"Colonel, if I could speak to you?" Armstrong had stiffened back to his military pose.

"Walk with me," Roy said, inclining his head and Armstrong fell into step with him.

"Sir, permission to speak freely?" Armstrong glanced down at Roy, who made a 'go ahead' motion. "There have been rumblings through the investigations office that you are going to be tried for cowardice; actions unbecoming an officer." He cleared his throat. "I may be called to testify in regards to the investigation."

Roy swallowed, lowering his head. Though he'd expected them, to actually hear the words cut deeply. He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded abruptly. "I understand, Major. And I want you to answer as truthfully as you can." He paused, forcing his emotions down so he could glance impassively at the larger man. "There are extenuating circumstances. I'm sure you understand that my loyalties must lie elsewhere." He looked over his shoulder, back towards the kids.

"I," Armstrong sighed, his shoulders heaving, "understand, sir." His eyes narrowed sharply. "The game being played is a dangerous one, sir, with very high stakes. Caution is a very good route to take."

"Duly noted, Major."

"Excuse me, Colonel?" Winry stood just behind them.

Realizing, Roy handed her the tulips. "Here you are." Both he and Armstrong watched as she walked back to Edward's gravestone. Her movements were jerky, as if she were suddenly as old as her grandmother. She bent down, laying the tulips in place and Roy started forward when it seemed she might collapse there. Alphonse caught her elbow, steadying her and she leaned her head against the boy's shoulder. "Alchemy is useless in so many ways, Major. It offers so much, almost like a fairy tale but in truth, it can't offer comfort to the people who need it most."

Armstrong wiped at his eyes. "Useless indeed, Colonel."

Alphonse and Winry slowly made their way to the two men. Alphonse said, "We need to go back, sirs." He raised his eyebrows sardonically. "And get yelled at."

"Maybe I should accompany you," Armstrong said, "assuage the worries of Miss Pinako."

"Thank you, Major Armstrong," Winry said warily, leaning away from Armstrong.

"Tell Havoc to drive you," Roy said. "He can come get me here afterwards."

"See you later, Colonel," Alphonse said.

Roy shook Alphonse's hand. "Alphonse." He met the girl's eyes. "Winry."

"Colonel." She offered him her hand.

Roy lifted it to his lips, brushing a kiss over her knuckles. "I'll think about our talk."

Winry's face was unreadable as he released her hand. "I will, too."

"Come along, children," Armstrong said, herding them ahead of him. "Good morning, Colonel."

Roy lifted a hand in farewell and Armstrong chivied the kids along the path, guiding them towards the trees that shaded the entrance of the cemetery. Roy saw Alphonse and Winry wave at him before exiting through the gate, Armstrong's broad back effectively blocking them from view. With a sigh, Roy strode to Hughes' grave. He reached into his pocket, removing the bottle of whiskey. "Well, Maes," he said, "it's just us now." Sitting down, he leaned against the headstone. Cracking open the bottle, Roy raised it in salute. "To absent friends."

* * *   
Pierce stared up at the house in front of him. Four stories with turrets, it looked more like a castle than a private house. White stone walls gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, stained glass glittered like so many jewels in the settings of the windows. A high wall swept around the lawns and gardens, the stone matching the mansion walls. The top of the wall was adorned with metal spikes, more reminders of the feudal era. A gate reminiscent of a portcullis showed a drive made of more white stone, crushed gravel of pristine white, raked into new designs daily. The view through the gate showed a lawn as well maintained as the driveway and the castle itself. Flowers bloomed and their sweet scents perfumed the air. Fruit trees stood in artificial perfection; hedges looped and swooped around the grounds, delineating boundaries across the sward of green.

Pierce sucked in a breath through his teeth. Every time he came here, he felt like a bug, insignificant; worthless. Ruffling a hand over his head, he went through the gate, walking up the drive to the house. He knew someone was watching – someone was always watching – and his skin prickled under the surveillance. Strolling to the entry, climbing the steps, Pierce whistled nonchalantly.

Rapping on the inlaid door, Pierce hid a yawn with this other hand. He hated feeling on display here. If anyone from his part of town saw him at this particular door, it would earn him more questions than he cared to answer – which meant a disguise was in order. The carrot-colored wig was outlandish enough; Pierce couldn't resist a clashing red overcoat. As long as people were staring at his hair and clothes, they might not notice his face.

The door opened with a faint squeal and Pierce plastered a smile on his face. The dark-haired butler eyed him with a familiar sneer. "Hey, Cashern, how's it going?"

"Mr. Pierce," Cashern said, somehow managing to look down his nose at Pierce even though he only reached the taller man's shoulder, "whatever brings you here?"

Sidling past the butler, Pierce said, "Need to see the missus. She's here, right?"

"Yes, Mr. Pierce," Cashern sighed, pulling the door to behind him. "If you'll wait in the parlor, I'll let her know that you're here and wanting to see her."

"Thanks, Cashern." Pierce showed the butler a large grin as he strolled into the parlor. Violets grew on glass shelves in the windows. Horsehair furniture gleamed, polished within an inch of its life. Pierce peered out one of the windows, checking to find out if anyone might be watching the house.

"Mr. Pierce."

He turned away, smiling over his shoulder. "Good afternoon, Miss Armstrong. I was hoping you might be able to help me with a little matter."

"Somehow, I expected that." Opal Armstrong glided into the room, the sunlight highlighting her brightly colored hair. She offered Pierce her hand and he took it, giving it a light squeeze. "Please, sit down. Cashern should be bringing in refreshments soon."

Pierce waited until the woman had settled into one of the chairs before seating himself. "I'm afraid that this is going to be a rather peculiar request, Miss Armstrong."

She crossed her wrists over each other, eyeing Pierce closely. "As if everything about you isn't peculiar already, Mr. Pierce."

"What, you don't like the disguise?" He tugged at the front of the wig, pulling some of the bangs into place.

"It's," Miss Armstrong cocked an eyebrow at him, "colorful."

"Oh, good." He beamed. "That's what I was going for."

"You are continually surprising, Mr. Pierce," Miss Armstrong said. "I think that's why my cousin sent you to me. He knows how much I dread the mundane." She swept out a hand delicately, making Pierce wonder just where Major Armstrong had acquired all those muscles. Miss Armstrong resembled her cousin only in the coloring of her eyes. As for the rest, she was small and slender, though with enough curves to catch most men's attention, and a titian mane of hair that she wore in a braided crown on top of her head today. "As for your peculiar request?"

Pierce lounged back on the horsehair sofa, crossing one leg lazily over the other and tossing his elbow on the armrest. "I've been looking into a local business and for some reason, all of my inquiries are being blocked."

"Really?" Miss Armstrong raised her eyebrows at that. "And you're so good at piecing together information, too."

Cashern appeared at the door, a silver tray balanced in his hands. "Coffee, Madame," he said, "for you and your guest."

"Thank you, Cashern." Miss Armstrong waved him closer and the butler began setting up the refreshments on the table between them. "I do hope you'll have a cup, Mr. Pierce. We're trying a new blend."

"I'll consider it an honor to share it with you." Pierce accepted the cup and saucer from Cashern, waving off the cream and sugar. "It smells delicious."

"There are butter cookies as well, Madame," Cashern said, lifting the cover off a small platter. "Freshly baked this morning."

"Excellent." Miss Armstrong smiled at her butler. "Cashern, here, knows something about our local economies." She turned her attention back to Pierce, gesturing at him with her cup. "Mr. Pierce was just telling me that he hasn't been able to get any information about one of the local businesses."

Cashern cocked his head at Pierce. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, the direct route isn't working." Pierce sampled the steaming coffee, pretending not to notice the looks exchanged by Miss Armstrong and her butler. "This is really good."

"Be sure to try the cookies, too, Mr. Pierce," Miss Armstrong said. "I'm sure you remember that Mila is a fabulous cook." She gestured at Cashern and he sat in the chair next to hers, angling it closer to the table. Picking up one of the cookies, the woman bit into it. "Very lovely, Cashern. Remind me to complement Mila on these."

"Certainly, Madame." He cocked an ironic eyebrow at Pierce.

Pierce set the saucer and cup on the table, leaning forward and lacing his hands together between his knees. "You know, Miss Armstrong, that I do enjoy our little visits. You've been very helpful to me, in ways that I know I'll never be able to repay."

Miss Armstrong took a drink of her coffee. "Somehow, Mr. Pierce, I'm thinking that this isn't a courtesy call."

He smiled toothily, his yellow eyes glittering. "Not in any way."

"Oh, good." Miss Armstrong grinned back. "I'd hate to think you'd gotten boring after only been in town for a few months." She arranged herself more comfortably in her chair, touching Cashern's wrist lightly. "So, about this business you're looking in to. Dare I ask if you're thinking of a take over?"

"Absolutely not," Pierce said. "You know I'm only here until things cool down enough for me to head back home."

Miss Armstrong raised an eyebrow at that. "Won't that be somewhat difficult, Mr. Pierce, considering your previous status in Amestris? It's rather unusual for people to come back from the dead, isn't it?"

He reached into the breast pocket of his coat, pulling out a pair of glasses and slipping them on. "It's not completely unheard of, Miss Armstrong. However, while I was running around last week, I did something that I'm beginning to think was unforgivable."

"Unforgivable?" Miss Armstrong exchanged a look with her butler. "You?"

His self-mockery dissolved as Pierce leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees. "You see, someone showed up from Amestris I wasn't expecting. An old enemy of mine, the one who set in motion the events that brought me to you." He raised his eyes to Miss Armstrong's face, taking in her delicate features. Behind that porcelain doll face hid a clever mind, he already knew that much. "Fortunately, though we had contact, the enemy didn't recognize me. Unfortunately," he let out a sigh, "she brought someone with her from Amestris."

"Someone you know," Miss Armstrong said, taking another sip of her coffee.

"Someone I'm rather fond of," Pierce said gently, "a young man, a State Alchemist. He appeared to be drugged, so there was no fear of him giving me away." He watched as Cashern poured more coffee into Miss Armstrong's cup and set the pot back on the tray. "However, my friend was slated to be delivered to a house of ill repute owned by one Miss Lizabet."

There was a silence and Miss Armstrong set down her cup heavily, the porcelain clacking when it touched the saucer. Coffee spilled out of the rim as the woman repeated, "Miss Lizabet? Are you sure?"

Pierce stared at his shoes. "I made the delivery myself."

"A week ago?" Miss Armstrong got to her feet abruptly, pacing to the window, though she didn't seem to notice the view outside of it. "Mr. Pierce, I'm assuming that you want to," her hand described a circle in the air, "rescue this young man?"

"Exactly." Pierce folded in on himself a little more tightly. "But I can't find out anything about the place. I know I can't break in there; it's too heavily guarded."

"That's the truth," Cashern said dryly. "How much to you value your own life, Mr. Pierce?"

When he frowned at the butler, Miss Armstrong said, "It's no minor question, Mr. Pierce. Miss Lizabet's house is," she took a breath and let it out slowly. "I'm sure you've turned up what little information we can give you."

"What she means," Cashern said, leaning forward, "is you're taking on a suicide mission. That place isn't just heavily guarded. There are reasons why you're not able to get any information about it – the connections Miss Lizabet has run all through the town."

"She's like a particularly venomous spider, sitting in her web," Miss Armstrong said, returning from the window, one of her hands plucking at the high collar of her dress. "Forget the Mayor, Mr. Pierce, Miss Lizabet is the true power here."

"I can't leave him there," Pierce said with a wry shake of his head. "He's, well, he's like a son to me. At least like a little brother." He didn't like the long looks that Miss Armstrong and Cashern exchanged. "What?"

"In your attempts to gather information about the house, did you find out what Miss Lizabet's clientele are looking for?" Cashern asked, thumbing his chin.

"I can't even get anyone to talk about what's inside there." Pierce flung his hands out in frustration.

"Because such things are not spoken of, even in the least delicate company," Miss Armstrong said severely. "There are some brothels where the…staff, shall we call them, are treated fairly and there are some where the staff are treated much, much worse."

Pierce's head jerked up at that. "You're saying?"

"She's saying that where your young friend has arrived is a veritable hellhole, Mr. Pierce." Cashern's brow furrowed deeply. "Miss Lizabet's staff are used to satisfy the darkest desires."

"If your friend is in that house," Miss Armstrong said, adjusting her skirts as if something noxious was on the floor, "he will be subjected to all manner of foulness." Her sharp gaze caught Pierce's. "Rape is the least that he can hope for."

The sinking feeling didn't just hit his stomach but his entire body. Pierce couldn't move for a few seconds, the words echoing in his ears. "My god," he breathed out, thinking of Ed; fiery, stubborn, mercurial. "He's…helpless in there." The rush of energy struck through him and propelled Pierce to his feet. "I've got to get him out."

"Sit down, Pierce," Miss Armstrong said, her voice cutting through the ideas whirling in his mind. "This is not something you can do immediately, no matter what you think."

"But I can't leave him there!" Pierce ran a hand over his hair, knocking the wig askew. His agitation was such that he didn't even notice. "It'll kill him. You don't know Ed."

"But I do know that house and I know Miss Lizabet." She got to her feet, gently but forcefully guiding Pierce back to the sofa and sitting him down. "This is going to take planning, Mr. Pierce." She tapped her chin and Pierce wondered wildly whether it was a habit she'd picked up from Cashern or vice versa. "You can't just barge in there. Not as you are." She eyed him thoughtfully. "Arrangements have to be made."

"I've already made them," Pierce said, slicing his hand through the conversation.

Miss Armstrong shook her head slowly. "No, Mr. Pierce, not to get your friend out of that house, you haven't." She walked slowly around the back of Cashern's chair, keeping her attention on Pierce. "I think, Cashern, you should let it be known that my cousin is coming to visit. Not Alex Louis, no," her mouth twisted in amusement, "because our friend here does not look like an Armstrong. But maybe someone from Mother's side of the family."

Cashern's sanguine face brightened roguishly. "We need a name for such a gentleman," he said.

"Yes, we do." Miss Armstrong rested her hands on the back of the butler's chair and Pierce again had the feeling that these two were not just master and servant, but co-conspirators in a long, on-going plot. His body relaxed somewhat and Miss Armstrong noted it and nodded at him. "Mr. Pierce. In your present incarnation, you will need to disappear. Leave town, say you're going, oh, somewhere. A few days later, come back into town as my cousin."

"I understand," Pierce said.

"By that time, we should have everything set up for the arrival of, hmmm," Miss Armstrong exchanged a look with Cashern.

Cashern said, "Mr. Albert Draken."

"Draken?" Pierce felt his eyebrows climb.

"Yes, a perfectly suitable name for a man who'd want to be invited to Miss Lizabet's house," Cashern said with a sardonic lilt.

"Invited?" Pierce looked from one to the other.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Pierce, or should I say, Cousin Albert, Miss Lizabet's house is only accessible by invitation. This is not going to be a quick process." Miss Armstrong's smile became more sympathetic. "Your friend, I hope he's made of stern stuff."

Pierce wrapped his hands together, squeezing them tightly. "He's the youngest State Alchemist we've ever had. He's strong…or he always has been. But I don't know what's happened to him since I came here." He raised his eyes to the pair.

"And we won't find out about it until we get him out of there," Cashern said briskly. "Mr. Draken," the corner of his mouth twitched at the new name, "you'll need to make arrangements out of town for a wardrobe. I can get you the specifics of the barest essentials you'll need."

"Understood," Pierce said with a heavy sigh.

"Cousin," Miss Armstrong said, "trust us. This is the best way, the only way, to get to your friend."

"I understand." Draken leaned back against the sofa, taking on an indulgent pose as he studied his fingernails. "So. Tell me, Cousin Opal, is there anything to do in this godforsaken town?"

* * *


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

Jean Havoc paused in the hall, lighting up. He flicked the lighter closed, dropping it in his pocket. The office was lit but quiet and he hesitated before entering. Peering through the doorway, he saw Lieutenant Hawkeye, arranging folders, getting ready for the day's work. She thumped the folders on her desk and her shoulders tensed. Holding up a hand, she suddenly popped a finger in her mouth.

"That's no way to treat a paper cut," Havoc said, stepping into the anteroom.

Hawkeye turned around, eyebrows rising then lowering in a scowl. She took her finger out of her mouth, reaching into a pocket for a handkerchief. "Aren't you here early, Lieutenant Havoc?" she asked while wrapping her finger in the fabric.

"Yeah, well." Havoc crossed the room, smoothly taking Hawkeye's hand. "Let me take a look at that."

"You're no doctor," Hawkeye said as he unwound the handkerchief.

"I did have field training." Havoc squeezed her finger gently. "Looks deep." He gave her a wink. "You'll probably have to get stitches."

Hawkeye jerked her hand out of his. "I'm going to wash this off."

"Be sure to use hot water." Havoc watched her walk out of the anteroom and tapped the ash off his cigarette into an empty waste can. He wasn't really accustomed to being here this early. Usually, he'd drive by and pick up the boss but Mustang had told him he was going to walk in. Havoc had argued about that but Mustang wouldn't be swayed.

"I need a chance to think," the boss had said.

"So, you are coming in?" Havoc had asked.

"Count on it." Mustang's expression had been grim.

Havoc hadn't been sure if it had been the whiskey talking yesterday or not but he hadn't driven by Mustang's quarters to pick him up. The boss would call if he wanted a ride. "What do you do here at this time of the day?" Rubbing the back of his head, he noticed his coffee mug. "Well, I guess it's something to do." Gathering up Hawkeye's mug, he sauntered to the canteen.

By the time Havoc got the coffee, the building was starting to come to life. Not that he could really tell; no one would meet his eyes outside the canteen. Even when he said, "Good morning," to a couple of the women, they were short with him. He walked into the anteroom. "Guess word's gotten out the boss is under investigation." He set the mug on Hawkeye's desk.

Her mouth was a tight line. "You noticed it, too?"

Havoc tasted his coffee and, horrified, set the cup down. Even the fact that it was hot didn't make up for that taste. "Marjorie broke our Friday night date." He leaned against his desk, crossing his ankles and tapping his cigarette into the waste can. "No one spoke to me besides her."

Hawkeye rearranged the folders on her desk, obviously to give her hands something to do. Her shoulders showed a tension Havoc had rarely seen in her. At least, not within the office walls. "Havoc, what do you think of this?" Hawkeye met his gaze, her forehead puckered in a frown.

"You mean the investigation?" Havoc lit a new cigarette off the old one. Shrugging, he said, "The boss said it'd be okay."

Shaking her head, Hawkeye disagreed. "He's throwing away his career."

Havoc went to her desk, as if to gather up some of the folders on top of it. In Hawkeye's ear, he said, "Better his career than his life, don't you think?" She turned away, folding her arms. Havoc touched her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "He'll be okay." Scooping up a few of the files, he greeted Falman, Fuery and Breda as they came through the door.

Hawkeye took a deep breath and let it out. "You're late."

"What?" Fuery glanced at the wall clock. "Less than a minute." He shrank slightly at the look Hawkeye gave him. "We'll do better next time, sir."

Breda dropped into his chair, rocking back in it. "It's already started," he said, lacing his fingers behind his head. "It's like we've got the plague."

"It's just an inquiry," Fuery said, pushing his glasses up as he sat down at his desk. When no one said anything in reply, he glanced around the room. "Isn't it?"

Hawkeye tapped her fingers on her desktop. "The Colonel is being investigated for actions unbecoming an officer." She lowered her voice. "He is going to take a fall."

"Sometimes, the means are necessary to the ends, Lieutenant." Mustang entered the office, removing his jacket and folding it over his arm. Picking up the mug off of Havoc's desk, he took a drink. Making a face, he pushed the coffee at Havoc. "This is terrible."

"Why do you think I wasn't drinking it, Boss?" He set the mug down, rolling his cigarette to the corner of his mouth. Mustang cocked a glare up at him.

Rising to her feet, Hawkeye said, "Permission to speak freely, sir."

"Permission denied." Mustang gave the coffee mug a glare that should have broken it into little pieces.

"Colonel Mustang," Hawkeye persisted.

Mustang walked past her and into his office. "I'm sure there's work that needs to be done. I'd suggest we get to it."

"Yes, sir," Breda, Falman and Fuery said as Mustang closed the door behind him.

Hawkeye just stared at the closed door, as if she was imagining shooting it down. Havoc squeezed her upper arm. "I don't like change," she said, almost under her breath.

"No one does," Havoc replied. "But it's not our choice."

Tensing her jaw, Hawkeye lowered her gaze. "This is not a good plan."

"Yeah. I don't like it either." Havoc leaned against her desk, crossing his ankles. "But it's the one we gotta play out." He indicated Mustang's door with a tilt of his head. "Boss' orders."

Hawkeye closed her eyes, resting her fingertips on the top of her desk. Gathering her strength, Havoc knew. Her shoulders rose and fell in a sigh and she opened her eyes again, fixing her gaze on the men. "You heard the Colonel. Get to work."

Havoc pushed off her desk, letting smoke trail behind him as he walked to Mustang's office. Rapping on the door, he called, "Boss? You in there?" When there was no answer, Havoc tried the door, relieved that it wasn't locked. Pushing through, he stood just inside the opening. Mustang sat at his desk, framed by the morning sun shining through the windows. His hands were folded together and pressed against his mouth. "Boss?"

Mustang flicked his eyes at Havoc. His throat moved and he said, "I don't remember giving you permission to enter."

Havoc came in the rest of the way, closing the door. He sauntered across the room, shoving his hands in his pockets. "No, you didn't." Dropping into the chair across from Mustang's, he took a puff off his cigarette. "I just thought you might want to talk."

"About what?" Mustang lowered his hands to the desk blotter.

Another knock and Hawkeye came through the door. She pushed it closed and stood there a few seconds, her hands pressed flat against the wood.

"You, too?" Mustang asked, a faint hint of humor coloring his voice.

"Sir," Hawkeye said, turning to face them both, "I've asked your permission to speak freely."

"I didn't grant it," Mustang told her.

Hawkeye crossed the room, leaning over the desk. "You will listen to me, Colonel. You cannot roll over in regards to this matter."

Mustang tilted his head back to meet her eyes. "Riza," he said, very gently, "I know what I'm doing."

"You're sabotaging your career, all for that boy." Somehow, Hawkeye managed to keep her voice to a conversational level. "I just want to know why."

The corner of Mustang's mouth quirked. "I owe a debt, Lieutenant. That's all you need to know – and really, I didn't need to tell you that."

Hawkeye's fists clenched. "Colonel," she protested.

Black eyes softening, Mustang laid his hands over her fists. "I appreciate your concern, Riza."

She whirled away, her arms going around herself. Havoc glanced from her to Mustang, actually able to watch that mask slide back over the Colonel's face. "What about me, Boss?" Havoc asked.

Mustang shot him a look. "Get to work."

"Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say." Havoc got up, guiding Hawkeye towards the door. "You need anything, you just yell." He paused with his hand on the doorknob. "Riza, pull yourself together. Don't scare the guys."

With a short, sharp laugh, Hawkeye pressed her fingers under her eyes, staunching the tears. "I'm good."

Havoc patted her back. "I know. C'mon, let's leave the boss to his job." He glanced over his shoulder and Mustang nodded his thanks. Havoc mustered up a smile in return and opened the door, letting Hawkeye precede him. He pulled the door to behind him and slouched against it. Breda, Falman and Fuery watched as Hawkeye went to her desk, seating herself calmly behind it. The trio turned their eyes to Havoc, who forced that same grin. "You heard the boss," he said. "Get to work."

* * *   
"I'm not going any farther."

Sciezca's announcement surprised Al, who stared at the young woman. "What do you mean?"

She stood up, gathering her bag and slipping it over her shoulder. "I can't run away from Central like this."

"Sciezca," Winry said, reaching out to their friend. Glancing around, she lowered her voice. "You know it's not safe back there."

Plastering a brave smile on her face, Sciezca nodded. "I do know. And I really appreciate that you and Doctor Rockbell took care of me, Winry." Her face fell. "But my Mom's in Central and I can't leave her there alone."

"Sciezca," Al said, touching her wrist.

She smiled down at him. "I'm really proud of you, Al. You got what you wanted." She ruffled his hair affectionately. "Winry, you've been a great friend. But I've got to take care of my mother. She's all I've got in this world."

Winry got up to give Sciezca a long hug. "Take care of yourself. Be careful."

Biting her lip, Sciezca said, "You, too." She hugged Alphonse in turn. "Try to be good, okay? Don't do those crazy stunts any more."

"I'll try." Al kissed her cheek. "We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too." Tears formed in her eyes and Sciezca shook her head. "I've got to hurry if I'm going to make my train. You two be careful. I'll call you when I get to Central." She backed away from them, almost as if she was afraid they'd grab her and take her with them.

"If you see Mrs. Hughes and Elicia, tell them we said 'hi'," Al called, waving.

Sciezca nodded, her smile suddenly back in place and more determined. With a quick wave, she turned and disappeared off their train. Winry and Al watched as she ran across the platform, heading for the ticket counter.

Pressing her fingers against the glass, Winry whispered, "Be safe."

Alphonse tugged at the cuffs of his jacket. "What do you think is happening back in Central?"

Winry shrugged. "Granny would tell us, maybe."

They exchanged a long look. "Maybe," Al said, leaning his head against the windowpane.

The conductor shouted an "All aboard!" and people started moving to get onto the train. Winry leaned her chin into the palm of her hand, staring out at the platform where their friend had vanished.

Alphonse leaned over, patting her knee. "She'll be okay, Winry."

Her faint smile vanished almost as soon as he saw it. "I hope so, Al."

* * *  
Pinako watched as Elicia ran around the fenced-in yard. The sun gleamed on the flowers in the garden, giving everything a golden glow.

"Pinako?" Gracia came out of the house, wrapping her sweater around her shoulders. "What are you doing?"

Sucking on her pipe thoughtfully, Pinako nodded at Elicia. "It doesn't seem very ago long that Winry and the boys were Elicia's age."

Gracia sat on the stoop next to her, tilting her face towards the sun. "Time seems to go by so fast. Did you know Edward and Alphonse were here for Elicia's birth?" She smiled at the memory, tucking her hair behind her ears. "They had their little friend with them, a girl named Nina." Her smile faded and Gracia watched her daughter chase after a butterfly. "Nina was about Elicia's age. Her father," Gracia's lips thinned. "Her father was a State Alchemist. He made chimeras, combining humans and animals." She passed a hand over her eyes. "He used Nina for one of his experiments."

"Damn," Pinako said quietly.

"Every day, I say a prayer for Nina's memory."

"I'll admit, I knew the boys were getting involved in a dangerous profession." Pinako shifted her position, hating that her joints creaked as she moved. "Their father, he disappeared years ago. The boys got their skills from Hohenheim. Even with as little as I know about alchemy, it seemed as if they'd be prodigies." She sighed. "Now, Ed's gone and Al's even more alone. Winry and I can't take Ed's place for him, any more than I was able to replace Winry's parents for her." She sucked on the pipe stem. "My son and his wife were killed in Ishbal. Doctors, doing what the military asked them do at least, until they decided to assist the Ishbalans, too."

"I'm sorry." Gracia laid her hand on Pinako's shoulder.

"It wasn't a good thing, losing them. Winry was so young and then the boys lost their mother soon after."

"So much pain," Gracia said, circling her knees with her arms.

Changing the subject, Pinako said, "Colonel Mustang seems like a good man."

Gracia smiled fondly. "He and Maes were best friends. They were so different, probably why they were so close. Maes kept Roy involved in the world, as much as he could."

Elicia ran up then, tulips clutched in her fist. "Here, Mommy," she said, giving Gracia a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Thank you, darling." Gracia accepted the flowers and smoothed her daughter's hair back.

"Welcome." Elicia wriggled out of her mother's grasp. "Granny, when will Winry and Alphonse come back?"

"I don't know, Elicia," Pinako said truthfully. She gave the little girl a smile. "As soon as they can."

"I hope it's soon!" Elicia danced in place then ran off, her arms stretched out at her sides.

"Gracia." Pinako watched the little girl. "I appreciate everything you've done for my family."

"You feel like a part of my family." Gracia stretched her legs out in front of her. "Maes loved the boys and Winry." She smiled fondly at her memories. "He wanted to do more for the boys, really. He worried about them, probably more than the military would've allowed. When Edward was in the hospital, Maes went to see him every day."

"Winry talked about all of you when she came home," Pinako said. "She's very fond of you and Elicia."

Wiping her eyes, Gracia said, "Winry's a sweet girl." She waved a hand at Elicia. "You should be proud of her."

"I am." Pinako set the pipe on the stoop next to her. "I'm proud of all my kids." She patted Gracia's knee. "I want you to know that this decision has nothing to do with you, Gracia, but I think I should move to a hotel." She squeezed Gracia's knee lightly to keep her from speaking. "You know this could be dangerous, this inquiry. You know why I sent the kids away. I don't want anything to happen to you or Elicia." Pinako's mouth turned down. "I couldn't forgive myself if something did."

"Pinako," Gracia began, her forehead creasing.

"I've already taken a room at one of the hotels. I'll be staying there, starting tonight. Please, enough people have been hurt by whatever it is that's going on. I'm trying to keep you and your daughter safe."

Gracia lowered her head. "Thank you, Pinako, but you are welcome to stay."

Pinako patted her knee. "I knew you'd say that. You're a good girl, Gracia." Getting to her feet, she gathered up her pipe. "I've got to get my things together. A car's coming in a half hour."

"That's not much time," Gracia said, "for us to say goodbye."

"I know." Pinako pressed her hand on Gracia's shoulder affectionately. "Ed isn't the only one who hates goodbyes."

* * *   
"You want me to head up the trial in regards to Colonel Mustang?" Frank Archer looked up from the paperwork he'd just been handed, not quite able to hide the smirk.

"It needs to be handled quickly," Fuhrer Bradley said, clasping his hands behind his back. "This…action besmirches military command. Keep it quiet, Colonel Archer, but I want you to be thorough."

Archer nodded, glancing over at the Fuhrer's aide. Lieutenant Douglas quietly made notes as they spoke. "How thorough, sir? Should I investigate his staff as well?"

Bradley rubbed his moustache, considering this. "No. Keep in mind that they will fall under your command if Colonel Mustang should be found guilty." He studied Archer. "Try not to alienate them."

Archer kept to himself that Mustang had brought his staff with him from Eastern Command. Their loyalty would not be easily swayed. The Fuhrer would know that, saying it out loud would accomplish nothing. "I'll do my best, sir."

Smiling, Bradley said, "I know you will, Colonel. That's why I'm asking you to head this up."

"Thank you, sir." Archer saluted. Leaving the office, he couldn't keep the smile from crossing his face. Clapping the file on his hand, he made his way back to the Investigations unit, opening the door and tossing the file on his desk. "Major Armstrong," he said, looking over at the large Alchemist. "I'd like you to gather together all the reports in regards to Colonel Mustang's command for the past six months."

Armstrong gazed at him impassively. "Yes, sir," he said, rising to his feet.

"The Fuhrer has asked for this investigation to be conducted with the utmost speed, Major. Everything in regards to it comes across my desk. Do not discuss any of this with anyone."

"Understood, sir," Armstrong said. He rose to his feet. "I'll get started immediately." He walked out of the office, his back stiff.

Archer sat down at his desk, opening the file. "It's too bad that Brigadier General Sherman isn't here. He's always wanted to snuff out the Flame Alchemist."

* * *   
Albert Draken stepped off the train, curling his lip at the people bustling around him. With a supercilious sniff, he pressed a linen handkerchief to his upper lip. Adjusting his pence nez, he spotted the man he was seeking. Draken strolled across the depot platform, using his walking stick to effectively keep the commoners at bay. Pausing in front of the small, dark-haired man, he asked, "I assume you are Chasan?"

"Cashern, sir." That was accompanied by a polite inclination of his head and a touch of his cap. "The coach is waiting, Mr. Draken. I'll collect your luggage and meet you there."

"Thank you, Cashern." Draken spun his walking stick in an arcing circle. "I do hope this town has more to it than what I'm seeing here." Tucking the handkerchief back in his pocket, the auburn-haired man strolled out of the depot.

Cashern pulled a face, nodding at the retreating back of the dandy. "I hate that man," he said to the porters.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

* * *

The inquiry drained Roy. Each morning, he felt as if more blood was tapped from his veins. Everything he and his staff did came under scrutiny, until the tension had them all snapping at each other. Even Havoc wasn't immune, the cloud of smoke hovering over him thicker than normal. They had stared at Roy with hope in their eyes at first but each day, a little more of that hope was gone. Roy avoided them as best he could, hiding in his office, contemplating the world outside his window. He knew the outcome of the inquiry and feared it – he had been in the military for almost fifteen years and couldn't really remember his life outside of it.

"Sir?"

Bringing himself back to the present, Roy looked up into Hawkeye's face. For once, her concern for him wasn't guarded, wasn't hidden behind the proper, starched visage that she showed the military at large.

An ache built in Roy's chest, one that had been lodged there since he'd been given the news of Hughes' death. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he said quietly. "My conduct has been reprehensible."

"No, sir, it hasn't." Hawkeye scowled. "You've been dealt a severe blow, sir." Her voice softened. "More than one. Your actions are understandable."

"You are too kind." Roy glanced down at the top of his desk, feeling the prickle of heat in his eyes.

Hawkeye said, "Colonel."

He let out a shaky breath, picked up a pen and opened it. Pulling the paperwork to him, Roy scrawled his name. "You understand the mission?"

"Yes, sir." Hawkeye straightened, her military façade now firmly in place.

"I appreciate you accepting this mission, Lieutenant. You understand that it could be dangerous."

"Yes, sir. Thank you for trusting me with it."

Roy handed her the folder. "As for your other paperwork, I shall take the appropriate action."

"Thank you, Colonel." Hawkeye hesitated long enough for Roy to raise his head. "Colonel Mustang. Roy. It has been a pleasure serving under you." She snapped a salute, her eyes sheening with tears.

Roy slowly got to his feet, walking around the desk to offer her his hand. "Thank you, Riza." They shook, Roy amazed at how small her hand felt in his own. "Be safe," he told her quietly.

"And you."

Roy released her hand and they stepped apart. Straightening, he saluted her stiffly. Hawkeye lowered her head, biting her lip and turned smartly on the ball of her foot, striding out of the office. Roy swallowed hard as the door closed behind her. Pressing his fingers against his burning eyelids, Roy felt the chill off the windows behind him. It seemed to cut through his clothes and settle deep into his body. He shivered once, all over.

The morning beyond the window was gray as his mood, fog snaking around the buildings in tatters. Roy sat down in his chair, pushing once to make it spin. The room swirled around him in various shades of grey. He stood abruptly, taking the two strides to the glass, pressing his palms against the cold surface. He could stare right down into the courtyard and saw a trim figure running lightly down the steps to a waiting car. She hesitated before climbing inside, tilting her face up as if she could sense him. The cold grey of the morning seemed to wreathe her, making her golden hair the only sunshine.

Hawkeye squared her shoulders and threw one last salute. Roy leaned his forehead against the glass as she disappeared into the car. He watched as the car drove out of the courtyard. It vanished around a corner, taking all the sunlight with it.

* * *   
Archer stepped into the room, pale eyes searching through the gloom. "Kimbley?"

"Yes, sir?" The voice came like a hiss out of the darkest corner, as if the alchemist coiled there like a venomous snake. Kimbley oozed out of the shadows, his yellow eyes a pallid gleam.

Archer smirked slightly to cover the vague unease he felt each time he confronted Kimbley. The alchemist was, to put it simply, insane. Archer only hoped that madness could continue to be harnessed. He had no doubt that while he held Kimbley's leash for now, the alchemist would take any advantage to slip his collar. "I have a job for you."

Kimbley's face brightened. "Really, Colonel?" He lowered his head, crossing his arms loosely. "One that needs my particular talents?"

"In a word, yes." Archer reached into his pocket. "The Fuhrer expressly requested your assistance in this matter." He handed an envelope to Kimbley.

Taking it, Kimbley flipped it open. Pulling out typed instructions he skimmed over them, lifting his eyes to Archer's. A dangerous smile flitted across his wide mouth. "This looks like fun," he said. "I'll have to thank the Fuhrer next time I see him." The glee evident in his voice sent a chill tickling down Archer's spine.

"I'll be driving you to this assignment," Archer said.

"Afraid I'll nip out of your grasp, Colonel?" Kimbley asked, tucking the papers back into the envelope.

Archer plucked the envelope out of Kimbley's hand. "It is a concern of mine."

"I know, I have to earn your trust." Kimbley sauntered to a wall, leaning a shoulder against it. He nodded at the envelope. "I do this, you slip the reins?"

Blinking at the request, Archer managed to say, "We'll see." The idea of Kimbley running loose made his heart stutter.

"Guess that's all I can hope for." Kimbley shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "So, when do we do this, Colonel?"

"I always think, the sooner the better." Archer allowed himself a chilly smile.

Kimbley matched it. "Sounds like a good idea, sir. Let's do this."

The two men walked out of the room.

* * *  
Pinako stared out the window of the hotel room. The early morning fog had only partially burned off, clouding the sky. The people walking along the streets were huddled against the chill still in the air. The corners of Pinako's mouth drew down. She missed Rezembool's sunny days. The cold seemed to seep through the window and dig into her joints. Pinako remembered Ed's complaints about how changes in the weather made his body ache. The lines around her mouth deepened at the memory.

"I'm too old to keep losing my children," she told her faint reflection in the windowpane. Turning away, Pinako rubbed her hands over her arms as she crossed the room. The friction warmed her for an instant until she took her hands away. Pinako again wished she was at home, a cup of coffee steaming next to her while she waited for her next patient, supervising Winry's progress on her latest commission.

Mustang's trial was over. He had been relieved of his duties, discharged from the military for actions unbecoming an officer. Pinako had watched Mustang's face as the decision was announced. Just for an instant, the façade slipped and his emotions were evident. The mask was back in place almost as soon as she'd realized, so quickly that Pinako hadn't been able to recognize what Mustang was feeling. She could only guess – fury, despair, anguish. As the trial was adjourned, his staff gathered around him, all but his adjutant, Lieutenant Hawkeye. Pinako could only wonder where she was, since she'd attended each day with the rest of Mustang's men. Gracia had joined them, taking Mustang's hands in her own, speaking to him. Pinako watched as they embraced, could just hear Gracia's invitation for Mustang to come to dinner soon.

As if he'd felt her scrutiny, Mustang had turned to her and they exchanged a long look across the courtroom. Pinako had held his gaze as she lowered her head almost imperceptibly, thanking him the only way she could without drawing further attention to them. His staff had swirled around him then, protesting the military police that were to escort Mustang to his office to collect his personal items. They had trailed behind Mustang and the police as they left the courtroom.

Pinako sighed. She didn't like destroying someone's career and yet, she feared that Mustang would have followed Edward and her son and daughter-in-law to an early grave otherwise. "Forgive me, Colonel," she said quietly, "but I think you'll have a better chance with my living children."

The knock startled her out of her thoughts and Pinako opened the door, looking up at the strange man, his long, dark hair caught in a ponytail. His smile was reminiscent of a rabid dog's and the chill she'd felt at the window settled deep into Pinako's bones. "Can I help you?" she asked, hiding her nervousness behind sharp words.

"Doctor Rockbell?"

"Yes?" She frowned prodigiously. "What is it you want, young man?"

"To offer my condolences," he said smoothly, though his smile didn't change. "I couldn't come to Fullmetal's funeral and I wish I could have, because I did want to speak to Alphonse one last time."

"You knew the boys?" Pinako folded her arms, determined not to invite this man inside.

"I had a few encounters with them," the man said. Squatting suddenly, his elbows resting on his knees, he was level with Pinako. "Don't suppose you'll tell me where Alphonse has gotten off to."

She stiffened at his rudeness. "Anything you want to say to him, you can say to me," Pinako said coolly.

Somehow, the man's smile got wider; making her wonder if his mouth would split his head open. "Thanks, Doctor Rockbell," he said, laying his hands on her shoulders.

She caught a scent, like the ozone smell of a too-close lightning strike, coupled with the sharp sizzle of burning cordite. "What are you doing?" Panic seized her in its clawed grip and it felt as if every cell in her body heated up.

His yellow eyes narrowing, the man said, "I'm the Crimson Alchemist, Doctor Rockbell. It's a fancy way of saying I can blow." He leaned closer, whispering in her face, "Things. Up."

Pinako didn't even get a chance to scream.

* * *  
Sciezca stood in the doorway of her mother's room, her hands fluttering up to cover her mouth. "Mom?" she whispered.

Colonel Archer glanced up his smile not reaching his ice blue eyes. "Hello, Sciezca. Your mother and I've been having a pleasant conversation."

"Colonel Archer said you worked together, darling," her mother said, reaching out a hand to Sciezca.

Pushing her glasses up, Sciezca skittered across the room, taking her mother's hand and squeezing it. "Hello, Colonel," she stammered out. "It's nice of you to take the time to sit with my mother."

"She's a charming woman," Archer said, patting her mother's shoulder. "She was telling me that Edward Elric helped you get her into this hospital."

Sciezca blinked rapidly, forcing a smile. "He did. He helped me get a job with Brigadier General Hughes." Turning her attention to her mother to hide her emotions at the mention of Hughes' name, she said, "I appreciate you coming here, Colonel, but I would like to spend some time with my mother."

"Of course. I don't want to interrupt your time together." Archer rose smoothly. "Thank you for the visit, Mrs. Harrison."

"Oh, thank you, Colonel Archer. So kind of you to visit with a sick woman." Her smile was sweet.

"The pleasure was mine, Mrs. Harrison." Archer let his gaze linger on Sciezca, who lowered her head abruptly. It felt like ants were crawling over her. "Sciezca," Archer said, his voice seeming to leave an oily film on her skin, "do you know where Alphonse Elric is?"

Shaking her head abruptly, Sciezca said, "No."

"Sciezca!" her mother said sharply. "She does know, Colonel Archer." Frowning, the older woman slapped her daughter's wrist. "I'm ashamed of you, Sciezca."

"As am I." Archer's smile had a predatory cast to it. "Shall I ask you again, Sciezca?"

Her mother didn't understand. If she tried to throw Colonel Archer off, she knew her mother would again tell him that she was lying. Sciezca fisted her hands defiantly. "I won't tell you, Colonel. Al is my friend."

"But it's my duty, Sciezca. I'm sure you understand that." Archer raked his eyes over her, his smile chilling. "I wonder how good a daughter you are."

Heart trip hammering, Sciezca asked, "What do you mean?"

He leaned close, his words stirring the hair at her ear. "Your mother is in such a precarious position. It would be so easy for something to happen to her, wouldn't it?" Pulling back, he studied the effect his words had.

Paling, Sciezca shuddered. "You wouldn't."

"I have a job to do, Sciezca," Archer said, in something like a reasonable tone. "You can either make it easy for me or you can make it difficult for you." A long forefinger traced her cheek and Sciezca flinched away. "So? What will it be?"

Sciezca blinked tears, glancing towards her mother, who reached out a curious hand to her daughter. Forcing herself to face the Colonel. Sciezca blurted out, "I won't help you. I won't betray my friends."

"I really was hoping you'd cooperate, Sciezca." Archer shrugged, spreading her hands. "I'm afraid action will have to be taken." Raising his voice, he said, "Major Armstrong?"

Sciezca whirled as the large man walked through the door, seeming to take up all the remaining room. "For crimes against the land, against Fuhrer King Bradley and the people of Amestris, you shall be taken into custody until such time as a trial may be held."

"Sciezca?" Her mother sounded panicked but Sciezca faced Major Armstrong, tipping her head back.

"It's okay, Mom," she said, though her voice wavered. "It's going to be all right. You just get better and know that I love you." Closing her eyes, Sciezca took a step towards the major, surrendering into his control as her mother cried behind her.

* * *  
Edward would be damned if they thought he'd be easy. Even trussed up, he nearly bit off Stefan's finger when the man left it too close to his mouth. The huge man had clouted him hard enough that Ed saw stars but he didn't regret it.

"Don't worry, he'll be punished soon enough," Lizabet said, laying a comforting hand on Stefan's arm as the man quivered and bellowed, blood streaming down his arm to his elbow. "Go get that taken care of." And when the huge man left, Lizabet turned on Ed and with the help of Xandor, replaced the bit in his mouth.

"I suppose if you're well enough to fight, you're well enough to provide service," Lizabet told him with a smile. "Just in time, too, considering one of my favorite patrons is back in Rivercrest."

"Go to hell," Ed growled, the words too garbled for even him to understand but the woman obviously understood enough, grabbing the soft skin of his thigh and twisting it.

"Language, pretty one," she said, her eyes glittering as he fought against her touch. She released Edward's leg, speaking to Xandor. "He's fresh, probably untried." Lizabet raked her eyes down Ed's body in a way that made him shiver. "I suppose I should find out for sure," she said. With that peculiar smile in place, Lizabet slid her hand beneath Ed's testicles. He flinched at that but when she curled a fingernail against him, forcing her way inside, he arched up at the intrusion, a yelp of pain making its way past the bit.

"Virgin," Xandor said cheerfully as Lizabet thrust her finger deeper, twisting it; adding another finger even as Ed tried tightening his muscles to keep her out.

She grinned at him. "Fight, pretty one. Let me see it on your face when you know you can't do anything to stop me."

Edward swore behind the bit though the curses were mixed with the sounds Lizabet dragged out of him. The criss-cross welts of the bamboo rod Margot had used on him the day before seemed to burn all over again. Tears brightened his eyes and Ed blinked them away, not wanting to give Lizabet the satisfaction. Her moon-shaped face loomed over him, her dark eyes like sockets in a skull as she suddenly withdrew her fingers. He collapsed back onto the bed, limbs shaking as Lizabet took the towel Xandor offered her to wipe her hand clean.

"I think you're ready, pretty one." Lizabet nodded as she tossed the towel back to Xandor. He caught it, wadding it up in his hands. "I suppose I should let Stefan have a chance at you, early on. You hurt him; he'll want to hurt you back. And Stefan always has interesting ideas on what to do with fighters."

Edward swallowed hard as Xandor chuckled, a low, loathsome sound that seemed to crawl over Ed's flesh. "He'll like hurting you, boyo."

"Well, if you're going to be ready for tonight, I suppose I should send Margot in." Lizabet trailed a hand across the welts on Ed's thighs. "She does such good work, don't you think?" She laughed at Ed's impotent snarl as she waddled away. "Come along, Xandor. Let's make sure everything's ready for the newest prize in my house." Lizabet paused in the doorway. "I can see it now, pretty one. My house will become even more notorious now that you're on the menu." She flicked her fingers, like fireworks. "'Miss Lizabet's Tame Alchemist.' They'll talk about you all over the countryside."

Xandor slammed the door on the woman's laughter and Ed sagged into the bed. He couldn't control the trembling of his body and felt sweat breaking out. Gasping, Ed shook his soaking bangs out of his eyes. He swallowed hard, the scent of his own fear rising in his nostrils. Writhing, trying to free himself from the binding, Ed cried out, thumping his head against the bedding. If he could get his wrist loose, maybe he could draw some sort of an array that would get him out of here, or at least draw the attention of someone who could set him free. A part of him despaired that there wasn't anyone who'd help but Ed thrust those thoughts aside. He tugged and twisted at the binding, almost not noticing when the door opened again.

"Oh, Edward," Margot's lilting voice came from the other side of the room, the sound of it jerking his head around. "Give it up. There's no hope for you escaping."

He gulped as she approached but forced a furious glare, enunciating as carefully as he could around the bit in his mouth. "Fuck you."

Laughing, Margot shimmied, her silky robe gaping open dangerously. "Promise?"

* * *


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

* * *

Roy knew standing near the house could attract attention but he couldn't help himself. Dusk cloaked him in its pool of shadows, giving him a little respite. His hand rested against the closed gate and he clenched his fingers around the metal to help steady himself. So many memories were caught up in those walls it almost hurt to think about them. Steeling himself, he pushed through the gate, heading quickly for the back door. He knocked, pulling the shabby hat tighter around his head, pressing into the shadows. His hands felt clammy and he wiped them surreptitiously on the legs of his trousers.

The sound of a lock being thrown heralded the door opening and Roy had to drop his gaze as Elicia cried out, "Unca Roy!" The little girl launched herself at his legs, nearly knocking him from the stoop.

Swallowing hard, Roy stroked her hair. "Hello, Elicia," he said softly.

"Roy?" Gracia appeared in the doorway, scanning the yard and the street beyond him automatically. She opened the door wider. "Honey, bring Uncle Roy inside."

"'Kay." Elicia kept hold of his pants leg, tugging at him. Gracia stepped aside to let them pass, pushing the door to behind them. Roy heard the click of the lock as he stooped to pick up Elicia, hugging her close. She hugged him back, petting his hair. "Where you been, Unca Roy?" she asked seriously.

"I've been busy, Elicia." He met Gracia's eyes past her daughter's head. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to stop by."

"You're here now." Gracia smiled fondly. "Come in, Roy. Let me get you something to drink."

He followed her up the stairs into the kitchen, bouncing Elicia in his arms. She squealed in delight. "Again!" Roy obliged her, bouncing her around the kitchen as Gracia readied a teapot. A pot of soup bubbled gently on the stove and the sweet, yeasty scent of bread perfumed the air. His mouth watered and, unable to remember, Roy wondered when he'd last eaten.

"That's enough roughhousing in the kitchen," Gracia told them both and Roy set Elicia on the floor. "You can help me set the table, Elicia," she said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out silverware. "You are staying for dinner, Roy?"

Roy wondered at the surprise he felt at her question. "Yes, thank you," he said, knowing that Gracia wouldn't accept him leaving. He was reluctant to go anyway. The memories stored in this house claimed him as soon as he'd entered. As Elicia walked out of the room, carrying the silverware with exaggerated care, Roy asked, "How is she?"

Gracia stirred the soup to give herself something to do with her hands. "It's a daily thing," she said finally. "I think it helped having everyone here. She – we both - had something else to think about." Glancing over her shoulder, her features clouded at the sight of his face. "What is it, Roy?"

His mouth tightening, he answered. "I have bad news, Gracia. Doctor Rockbell is missing. She didn't check out of her hotel." He made sure that Elicia hadn't returned to the kitchen. "There seemed," Roy swallowed, shaking his head. "The traces that were found indicate that she's been murdered." He remembered the phone call he'd received from Havoc, the terse words from the second lieutenant indicating exactly who had done the crime. One more mark against you, Kimbley, Roy thought to himself.

Covering her mouth with her hand, Gracia sucked in a breath. Tears stood in her eyes and Roy moved, pulling her against him. "Those poor kids," she whispered into his jacket. "Do they know?"

Roy shook his head. "I don't know how to tell them. I've brought them so much bad news already. I sent Riza after them before my," his voice caught on the word, "discharge so she doesn't know yet, either." Roy lost himself in stroking Gracia's hair. "She'll take care of them until I can catch up and then," he trailed off.

"And then what?" Gracia pulled away slightly, wiping her eyes with her fingertips.

"You already know the answer to that." Roy squeezed her then stepped back, breaking contact. A part of him ached for that loss but he schooled his face to not let it show. "I owe a debt to them both."

"Well." She gave him a watery smile. "I suppose we can talk about it later. Would you mind helping Elicia with the table? She's not quite safe with the dishes yet."

Roy obediently went to the dining room, taking bowls out of the cupboard and setting them on the table. Elicia supervised and folded napkins for each of them as he collected plates. There was a homey feeling to this, familiar and soothing and a part of him felt as if he'd lost something all over again. Memories threatened to overtake him; he could hear Maes cooing at his daughter; Riza and Gracia laughing in the kitchen. The warmth in the house didn't seem enough to drive away the sudden chill that wracked his body. He wondered what it would be like to live here, surrounded by those ghosts and wished, suddenly, that he could take Gracia and Elicia with him, too.

There seemed no good time to broach this suggestion, not over dinner, nor afterwards, when Elicia insisted that Roy read to her before she went to sleep. While Gracia finished tucking in her daughter, Roy turned over the subject in his mind, wondering how to pose it. Would Gracia agree?

"Sleep tight, Elicia," she said softly, backing out of the room and pulling the door partially closed. Gracia paused before him, reaching out to take his hands. "You need to go to bed, too, Roy." She studied his face closely. "When was the last time you actually slept?" Her knowing smile was gentle. "Around the last time you ate?"

"You know I shouldn't stay," he said roughly, "but I know I've never won an argument with you."

"No, never." Gracia's smile turned wistful as she led him to a bedroom down the hall. She ushered him inside. "I need to clean up downstairs. Do you want anything?"

The mask slipped and the need shone naked in his eyes as Roy caught her shoulders. "I," his voice gave out and he leaned his forehead against hers. Gracia slid her arms around his waist, pulling him close, offering him the comfort he craved. Roy groaned deep in his throat. "I feel like I've lost both hands, Gracia. My life is gone and the two people who shared it are lost to me."

"Oh, Roy." Gracia stroked his back. "Things will turn around. I have faith in that. Riza is waiting for you with the kids. And," she leaned away from him, meeting his eyes, "someday, you will see Maes again." The certainty of her words conjured a faint smile. "As for now, you're exhausted. Once you get some sleep, things will seem better." She disengaged from him gently.

"I think I'd like to clean up first," Roy said.

"You know where everything is." Gracia stroked the hair off his forehead and he leaned into that touch, his eyes closing. "But afterwards, you need to sleep." Her voice took on a tone that wasn't quite playful. "To make sure of that, I'm hiding the key to the liquor cabinet."

"I understand." Roy waited until she walked out of the room before toeing off his boots. He padded barefoot to the bathroom, one of Maes' robes tossed over his shoulder. The hot water of the shower seemed to wash away some of the greyness he felt he carried with him and he returned to the bedroom, feeling somewhat refreshed. Removing the borrowed robe, trying not to think about it still holding Maes' scent, Roy slipped into the bed. The sheets were fresh and cool and a little stiff and he didn't expect it but exhaustion claimed him as a victim.

His dreams were chaotic, images of Ishbal combining with those of Lior. He stumbled across Alphonse's armor but the boy was missing. Roy searched frantically but Kimbley was no help, teasing him, appearing and disappearing within the ruins. He could see Maes and Riza standing with Edward but they didn't seem able to hear Roy shouting their names, the three of them oblivious to Kimbley drawing near. "Let's blow the place up, Flame, c'mon, it'll be a blast!" Kimbley laughed.

"No!" he screamed but no one heard, not even Kimbley and when he tried to run, it seemed he sank into the rubble. They were too far away and so close and Kimbley charged up the wall, cackling, his hands pressed to the building.

"Roy boy, this'll be so good," he said, grinning down and the explosion roared up as Roy sat up abruptly in bed, a muffled cry caught in his throat. Panting, he wasn't sure where he was for an instant, his heart thundering in his ears.

"Roy?" Gracia's voice came from nearby. "What's wrong?" A dim light came on and she was suddenly there, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Falling back into the mattress, Roy covered his eyes with his forearm. "Nightmare," he said thickly.

A hand stroked his chest soothingly. "Ishbal?" Unable to speak, he nodded, trying to get his breathing under control. "I'll be back." The mattress shifted as Gracia rose. Roy heard her walk out of the room and, a few minutes later, return. "You didn't wake Elicia. Here. Drink this."

Rising up, Roy accepted the water, taking a few gulps of it. Gracia took the glass away, setting it on the bedside table. "Do you want to talk about it, Roy?"

"No." He dropped his gaze from her sleepy eyes, jerked them away from her breasts. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. The scents were so familiar, a reminder of happier times. Roy could almost hear Maes whispering to them both as they lay in a jumble of legs and arms then suddenly, Gracia's lips pressed against his and Roy wrapped an arm around her. The kiss was clumsy at first but his mouth warmed under hers. Roy sucked lightly on her lower lip and Gracia allowed him entry. His tongue stroked hers, his hand sliding up into her hair, angling her head for better access. Gracia moaned her appreciation as they tumbled into the bed together. Her thigh brushed lightly over his burgeoning erection and Roy broke the kiss, panting heavily.

"Gracia," he murmured, "this isn't," he lost control of his voice when she nuzzled his cheek.

"Neither of them is here, Roy, and even if they were, they wouldn't object." Her smile was wicked as she said, "They never did before." Catching his hand, she guided it to her breast, pressing it against the nipple stiffening beneath her silky nightgown. Roy kneaded her flesh as she kissed him, her tongue chasing into his mouth. Roy sighed as Gracia ran her hand up his arm, grasping his shoulder, pulling at him as she rolled onto her back. Roy obligingly moved with her, her lush body so different from Riza's leaner form. Roy's thigh was between Gracia's, his bare chest pressed against her slithery gown. She reached up, stroking his temples with the tips of her fingers. Her smile welcomed him and Roy poised above her, wondering again what he'd done to deserve the people he loved. His cock dug into the soft skin of her thigh and he shuddered.

Maes' voice whispered in his memory, "Isn't she beautiful, Roy?"

"So beautiful," Roy answered with a moan, kissing Gracia. Her hands moved over his shoulders, along his back as she arched her hips up into his. A low sound slipped from his throat as Roy buried his face into the crook of her neck. "Gracia, Gracia," he said, tugging at the hem of her gown. She shifted, helping him get the slinky material over her head and they were skin to skin. His cock wept against her thigh and Roy make a noise of encouragement when she closed her hand around him.

They shifted positions again, resting on their sides, Roy placing kisses along her collarbone and the tops of her breasts as Gracia's nimble fingers moved over his cock, smoothing the precum along his shaft. "Lie back," Roy told her, taking her hand away from him, planting a kiss in her palm. Gracia obeyed and Roy moved down her body, sucking on her nipples until she arched up with a cry then sliding his lips over her slightly rounded tummy. Gracia shivered and whispered his name, burying her hands in his hair. Roy slid his fingers through her shorter, dark curls at the apex of her thighs, feeling her tremble and spread her legs.

"Touch me, Roy," Gracia murmured and he complied, sliding his middle finger between her nether lips. She gasped, clutching his head tighter. Roy eased up her body again, licking at her breasts as he stroked her. Gracia moaned, moving under his touch and Roy pressed his thumb against the bundle of nerves at her core. He pulsed his fingers into her, making her gasp. Roy reached up to kiss her, muffling the cries he elicited.

Gracia writhed against his hands, clutching at him. "Gracia, let go," he said, his words brushing over her mouth. "You're beautiful, Gracia."

Her body tensed, thrumming like a plucked harp string. Roy felt her inner muscles clamping around his fingers and she threw her head back. He covered her mouth with his own, swallowing her shout. Slowly, slowly, her body relaxed, collapsing back into the mattress. Her skin was flushed and her heavy-lidded eyes glowed. Dragging Roy down for a long kiss, Gracia nuzzled under his jaw. "Thank you," she breathed against his throat.

Roy caressed her again, feeling the aftershocks that still ran through her body. He pulled his hand away and Gracia sighed. Roy licked his fingers clean. "Like honey," he murmured.

Urging him to lie down, Gracia trailed her hand down his body, the pads of her fingertips exploring the textures of his skin. Roy shivered as she scraped her fingernails over his nipples. Gracia moved over him, her mouth replacing her fingers, nipping at his skin then soothing the bite with her tongue and lips. Hips arching as Gracia slid her palm along his shaft, Roy groaned his pleasure. Gracia kissed his stomach, slipping further down his body to take the head of his cock into her mouth.

Roy hissed, clenching one hand in the bedclothes and cupping the back of Gracia's head with the other. The tip of her tongue prodded his slit before she engulfed him, taking him deep into her mouth. His breathing ragged, sweat sheened over Roy's body as he tried to keep from pumping his hips. Images played behind his closed eyes; Maes, squinting slightly in the early morning as he pulled Roy in for a kiss; Riza kneeling over him, her hair hanging loose over her high breasts. A tangle of arms and legs and flushed skin and Gracia suddenly kissing Roy hard before Maes tugged them both back down into his and Riza's embraces.

"Gracia," Roy said harshly, "please." He pulled her back up, kissing her hungrily. Crawling over him, she reached into the nightstand drawer, pulling out a box. Roy accepted the prophylactic, unrolling the cool sheath over his heated shaft. On her haunches, Gracia waited until he reached for her before moving, stretching her body over his. They kissed and Gracia rose above him, straddling his hips. Reaching behind her, she tickled his balls. Roy's hips bucked involuntarily and he whispered again, "Please." Smiling, Gracia lifted herself slightly, the tip of his cock pulsing at her entrance before she lowered herself onto him smoothly. They both gasped at the sensations, her head falling back, Roy's eyes fluttering closed. Gracia rested her palms on Roy's chest then leaned forward to steal a kiss. The flex of her inner muscles around him urged Roy to move with her. The kisses were fierce, their movements frenzied. Wrapping his arms around her, twining his legs with hers, Roy rolled Gracia to her back. Rising above her, Roy repositioned Gracia's legs, pulling one over his hip, delving deeper inside her. Gracia reached up to caress his check and Roy kissed her palm, his hot breath spilling between her fingers.

"Touch me, Roy," she urged and Roy skimmed a hand over Gracia's stomach, riding his thumb on the sensitive pearl at her core. Gracia bucked against him and Roy thrust deep, her soft, moist warmth seeming to both give in to him and pull him deeper. Gracia's hand came to press down on his, her legs crossing behind his back. "Come for me, Roy," she said breathily.

The words echoed in his memories, other voices repeating them in his head. Gasping, Roy threw back his head, his testicles tightening as he thrust harder, deeper. Gracia's breathy moans incited him, her softness seeming to melt around him. Grasping her hips hard enough to bruise, Roy rammed into her, once, twice and exploded. Starbursts flared behind his closed eyes and he groaned, thrusting deeply twice more before spilling forward onto Gracia's stomach.

She petted his sweaty hair, cupping his chin to draw him in for a tender kiss. Roy grasped the base of his cock, holding tightly to the sheepskin before withdrawing from Gracia's body. Removing the prophylactic, he pitched it into the nearby waste can and fell back onto the bed. Gracia gathered up the blankets, draping them around them both. Snuggling in against him, she laid her head on Roy's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. "Thank you," he whispered before kissing her.

"Thank you," she replied, drawing designs on his chest until he caught her hand.

"Tickles," Roy said in reply to her unasked question.

Gracia smiled. "Maes always said the same thing." She pressed a kiss onto Roy's shoulder. In a completely different voice, she asked, "Are you going to be all right?"

He tightened his arm around her. "I was going to ask you that." Roy leaned his cheek against the top of her head. "You and Elicia could come with us."

"I had thought about it." Gracia twined her fingers with his. "But this is home. And I might be able to find out things for you here." Her smile was genuine. "You know how much officers' wives love to gossip. They feel sorry for me, so they're still including me in their activities."

Sorrow clutched at Roy and he whispered almost involuntarily, "I wish he were here."

"So do I." Gracia curled closer to Roy, sharing her warmth. "I think we'd be better off here in Central, Roy, no matter how tempting your offer is. I'll miss this," she leaned up to kiss him again, "I can't begin to tell you how much. But if I can find out anything for you, it makes it that much more worthwhile for me to stay here."

"I can't argue with that." Roy sighed softly. "We won't be able to protect you. You'll need to be very careful."

Gracia stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Major Armstrong isn't going anywhere. He'll keep an eye on us. Not to mention your staff. We've got friends, Roy, good ones." Turning his head towards her, she met his eyes steadily. "Now, go back to sleep. You deserve it."

"Yes, ma'am," Roy said softly, tilting his head so he could kiss her one last time. Desire flared briefly but he put it aside. Closing his eyes, he let go of all his worries, content for now in Gracia's arms.

* * *   
The night was cloudy with fumes from Rivercrest's factories. A yellow haze hung about the gaslights, making their luminescence dim and murky. The man walking under them was alone but his sheer size warned off all but the most reckless of thieves. He ignored the calls of the streetwalkers and those desperate dealers of games of chance designed to fleece the unwary of their funds. He strode with a military cadence, his steps firm, his gaze barely flicking from side to side.

The colored lanterns swam through the smog, a hint of brightness in the misty night. The largest house on the block, it loomed over the others with an arrogance that almost matched that of its owner. The street in front of it was cleaner than some of the streets in the wealthiest neighborhoods and music spun out of the bright windows. The second floor balcony was patrolled by pretty boys and lovely girls, dressed in flamboyant clothes that enticed rather than protected them from the cool evening. He could just see the hint of a large guard, standing back in the shadows, watching the staff. Other guards watched the house from various vantage points, all similar in shape and build. Were he not dressed in the military blue of Amestris, he probably would have been mistaken for one of these men.

The stairs leading up to the house from the street were recently swept and he climbed them without changing his pace. The guard at the door watched impassively until he drew close then he tilted his head back to meet the man's eyes. A faint smile creased his face. "Good evening, Brigadier General Sherman. It's a pleasure to welcome you back to Miss Lizabet's."

He adjusted the gloves on his hands. "Thank you, Orvi. It's a pleasure to be here." Flicking a glance towards the house, he asked, "Has anything new come in?"

The doorman's smile deepened. "Oh, yes. Miss Lizabet's set aside something special just for you." He unlocked the door and held it open for Sherman. "I'm sure you'll be pleased."

"Now, you intrigue me." Sherman tipped Orvi a coin as he stepped inside the house. The entrance to the house was grand, a staircase riding along one wall and sweeping out towards the entry. The wooden floor gleamed, highly polished to a rich golden tone. Rooms spread out from the foyer, piano music tinkling from one and soft squeals of laughter from another. A dark-haired young woman ran lightly down the stairs past other girls, offering a smile to Sherman.

"Welcome back, Brigadier General Sherman," she said, pausing in front of him.

"Margot." He smiled as she slipped her hand through his arm. "What have you been doing to keep yourself busy since the last time I was here?"

Margot laced her fingers together in the crook of his elbow. "I've been busy helping train some new staff." Her smile was decidedly wicked as she spoke.

"Orvi said that Miss Lizabet had something to show me." Sherman laid his free hand over the girl's fingers.

Her hazel eyes sparkled up at him. "Oh, Miss Lizabet has been saving one just for you."

Sherman had to smile at her enthusiasm, feeling the stir of excitement in his loins. Allowing Margot to lead him through the house, she brought him past other patrons, other rooms, where the games played were of a darker nature. Sherman found himself stopping outside one room, entranced by a woman hanging helplessly from the ceiling, one man positioned between her legs, the other pistoning himself into her mouth, holding her hair the way he might hold the reins of a horse. It was one of the tamer aspects of Miss Lizabet's but the man's back and ass fascinated Sherman. His mouth watered and he swallowed, turning away from the sight as Margot waited patiently. "This way, sir." She beckoned him on to a closed door and rapped on it. "Miss Lizabet, Brigadier General Sherman is here."

A muffled voice called, "Come in," and Margot opened the door, indicating Sherman should enter. The room was gloomy, dark curtains masking the windows, dark wood furniture looming and the lights set dimly. A desultory fire burned, the brightest spot in the room, casting strange shadows. "Please, Brigadier General, have a seat." Miss Lizabet gestured towards a chair and Sherman sat down, removing his gloves and folding them. "It's good to see you again."

"I'm happy to have a chance to return." He slipped the gloves in a pocket. "I'm rather fond of this city and its pleasantries." Sherman exchanged a look with the woman, their smiles equally knowing.

"I'm sure you've heard that I've set aside someone in particular for you," Lizabet said, "in thanks for all that you've done for me and mine." Her foreshortened sweep indicated the house and all within it.

"It has been a pleasure, Miss Lizabet," Sherman said smoothly. "Your lovely house has brought me many enjoyable hours in Rivercrest." He leaned forward, as if imparting a secret. "I'm sure that you know that the delights you offer are second to none."

Her smile was peculiar and offsetting but Sherman had grown accustomed to it. "I do take pride in my staff," Lizabet said, entwining her pudgy fingers. "That's why I believe you'll find my latest acquisition so fascinating. Margot has had a hand in the training. I know you appreciate her work."

Sherman remembered Margot's skill with whips and floggers, how she'd reduced a young man to tears before handing him over to Sherman, like an elaborately wrapped gift. He shifted position in his chair to release the pressure against his groin at the memory. "Margot has a particular flair, yes," he said.

"Then perhaps you'd like to be shown your prize, Brigadier General," Lizabet said. She pushed to a standing position.

"I'm looking forward to it, Miss Lizabet." He got up, following the woman to the door. Sherman expected this night to be far more interesting than he'd originally hoped.

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

* * *

Dusk had laid its claim on the land by the time the train pulled into the Rezembool station. Having heard the whistle, Coyle, the stationmaster, stood on the station platform, a step stool in his hand. He adjusted his collar and smoothed his moustache fastidiously as a porter stepped out of a passenger car, holding the door open. "Rezembool!" he called, his voice resonant in the cool air. "Good evening, stationmaster," he said, touching the brim of his hat.

"You're here a little early," Coyle said, placing the stool under the car's steps.

"We made good time." The porter moved aside to allow a blonde to exit the car. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and, reaching into a pocket, pulled out a ticket to hand to the porter.

"This luggage is in the baggage car," she said, her brown eyes visibly tired even in the dim light.

"We'll take care of it, ma'am." The porter strode down the depot platform to the baggage car as the blonde stretched surreptitiously.

"Are you here for a visit, ma'am?" Coyle asked. He thought she looked vaguely familiar; someone he might've seen pass through the station before.

She passed a hand over her forehead, tucking a loose strand of hair in place. "I heard this is a lovely place," she said noncommittally. "Would you be able to hold my luggage here? I'll call tomorrow with arrangements to pick them up."

Coyle glanced towards the road. Not noticing any automobile headlights or hearing the sound of a horse and cart approaching, he raised his eyebrows at the blonde. "Is anyone expecting you, ma'am? It's a little late for you to be walking around unescorted, even in Rezembool."

The blonde sighed, dropping her head. When she lifted it again, Coyle realized she'd come to a decision. "I am First Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye with the Amestris military. I'm here on the request of Lieutenant Colonel Edward Elric's former commanding officer."

Coyle's moustache sagged. "We were sorry to hear about Edward. He was a good boy. Impetuous but good." He met the blonde's steady gaze. "How can I help?"

"I need to get to the Rockbell residence," Lieutenant Hawkeye said, "without a lot of people spreading gossip that I'm here." She lowered her voice, checking to make sure the porter was still busy. "There has been a threat made against Alphonse Elric."

"Not Al, too?" Coyle glanced at the baggage coming off the train: a couple of large trunks, a trio of crates and three suitcases. Finally, a mostly black, curly-tailed dog leaped out of the car, dragging the porter behind it. Wagging its tail frantically, the dog pulled the porter to the lieutenant.

Hawkeye accepted the dog's lead. "Black Hayate, sit," she said and the dog obeyed.

"That's everything, ma'am?" the porter asked, handing over the ticket. Hawkeye reviewed the paper and the luggage then tipped the porter.

"Thank you for your help."

The porter touched the brim of his hat again. "Ma'am. Stationmaster." He climbed back onto the train and the engineer, noticing from the cab in the locomotive, waved. The locomotive's lonely whistle cut through the air and steam poured out from between the engine's wheels. Hawkeye waited until the train had pulled out of the station before turning her attention to Coyle.

"I can get you a ride to the Rockbell house, Lieutenant," he said.

"Thank you." She sounded relieved.

"It'll take a telephone call. You can come in and wait if you'd like."

Hawkeye touched the dog's head. "I'd better walk him first." She took a few steps then hesitated. "Thank you for your assistance, stationmaster."

"You're welcome." He smiled, then hesitated, remembering. "Lieutenant, who exactly is threatening Al?"

Her brows drew down. "Why?"

"Well," Coyle rubbed a finger over his moustache, twisting the ends of it, "three people came through earlier today, looking for the Rockbells, too." His mouth turned grim. "One of 'em was in some sort of weird costume, strange face and all."

Hawkeye's expression went dark. "How fast can you get me that ride?"

* * *   
Alphonse turned on the front porch light, peering out into the darkness. Behind him, Winry absently rumpled Den's ears. The dog made a grumbling sound in her throat, turning her attention to Al. Winry's eyes rose to meet his as he leaned against the doorjamb.

"Why is Lieutenant Hawkeye here?" Winry asked the question haunting Al.

"I don't know. But when she called, she said not to open the door to anyone." Al's mouth pulled into a grim line.

"I wonder if she's hungry." Winry gave Den one last pat and went to put the kettle on. She stared at the top of the stove, finally lighting a match and touching it to the burner as she twisted the knob. Flames sparked up in a ring and Winry set the kettle on top of the burner. Turning around, she met Alphonse's gaze. He wondered if he looked as lost as she did.

The house seemed strange and empty without Granny and Brother. Al half expected to walk into the living room and find Edward sprawled out on the couch, sleeping. Or Granny, looking over one of Winry's latest projects, her pipe sending up its own aromatic complement to the old woman's low-pitched words. Since they'd arrived a week ago, Al and Winry had found themselves tiptoeing around, looking hard into rooms before entering them, speaking in whispers. Their mood affected Den, making the big dog cling to one or the other of them. Alphonse couldn't count how many times he'd tripped over Den since they'd come home.

He blinked, nonplussed. Home. He followed Winry with his eyes as she stumbled around the kitchen. It almost seemed as if she'd forgotten where things were kept. Winry pulled open a cabinet, peered inside, shook her head and opened the one next to it, taking out a tea tin. Alphonse let out a breath. This house was home; it had been for almost as long as he could remember and yet the house felt strange, uncomfortable. Empty.

Maybe home wasn't a place, he thought, but people. And if that was true, he wasn't sure he'd ever find home again.

Den raised her head, her ears cocking forward. Letting out a woof, she trotted towards the front door. She sniffed at the crack, her tail wagging tentatively.

Winry raised a fist to her mouth. "Lieutenant Hawkeye can't be here that fast."

Al caught her arm as she started past him. "Winry, no. Remember, the lieutenant said not to open the door. It could be someone else." He clasped her wrists. "Get in the next room. If something happens, run. Don't look back."

Her jaw tightened stubbornly. "I'm not leaving you here alone."

"Winry, please," Al whispered, giving her wrist a shake. "I can't let anything happen to you."

"Then we'll both have to be careful." She tried to give Al a reassuring smile. He didn't have the heart to tell her it didn't work.

A knock came at the door and Den's tail started wagging in earnest. A voice, cheerful, female, came from outside. "Winry? Hello? Is anyone home?"

They met each other's eyes and Alphonse released Winry's wrist. "I know that voice," she said quietly, wonderingly. She took a step towards the door when Al would have caught her back. "Who is it?"

"Winry! It's Paninya!"

Repeating the name silently, Winry moved forward and opened the door before Al could stop her. The dark-skinned girl from Rush Valley stood on the porch, her hands coming out of her pockets. Leaping forward, she enveloped Winry in a hug. "It's so good to see you again!"

"Paninya?" Alphonse asked, seeing two other people on the porch. "Who are your friends?" There was something peculiar about one of them and Al found his body falling automatically into a defensive position.

Paninya released Winry, her large dark eyes studying him. She glanced at Winry, puzzled, realization coming over her like the dawn. "Al?" Her smile was brilliant, lighting up the kitchen as she lunged at him, grasping his forearms excitedly. "Al, you look great!" Hugging him impulsively, she added, "And feel great." Tilting her head back, she grinned up at him. "And you're cute!"

A blush warmed his cheeks at the praise. "Ah, Paninya," he said, trying to untangle himself from her, "your friends?"

"Hmm?" She tore her gaze from his face, beckoning at the pair still on the porch. "Oh, I'm sorry! These are my friends, Ling and Ran Fan."

The pair came into the house. The young man had long, blue black hair caught up in a ponytail and wore an elaborately decorated jacket. He kept an arm around the other person, somewhat shorter than him, wearing an enveloping outfit that hid his figure. A mask further obscured the features of the person but Alphonse got the impression that something wasn't right.

"Ling, Ran Fan," Paninya said proudly, with a sweep of her arm, "these are my friends Winry Rockbell and Alphonse Elric." She patted Den's head affectionately as the dog sniffed her hip. As the kettle began to whistle, Paninya said, "Oh, tea!" and darted between Al and Winry to remove the kettle from the stove.

"Please, have a seat," Winry said, gesturing towards the kitchen table.

"Thank you," Ling said in a deeply accented voice, bobbing his head politely. He assisted Ran Fan to the table as Winry closed the door behind them, leaning back against it. Ling settled Ran Fan in one of the chairs, remaining standing himself. He rested a hand on the back of the chair.

"Where's the teapot, Winry?" Paninya asked, holding up the tea tin in one hand and the steaming kettle in the other.

"Oh." Crossing the room, Winry found the teapot and, humming cheerfully, Paninya busied herself with brewing the tea. "What are you doing here, Paninya? Not that you aren't welcome but this is a surprise."

The girl hopped onto the counter, grinning. "I wanted to see you. I missed you guys. You're my first real friends, besides Mr. Dominic." She winked at Al, who felt his face heat up again. "So I decided to come for a visit. I didn't really have any way to contact you," Paninya shrugged eloquently, "and let you know I was coming, but I thought it would be more fun to surprise you." She arched her eyebrows. "Are you surprised?"

"Yes," Alphonse said, dropping into one of the chairs.

Paninya gestured towards Ling and Ran Fan. "I met them on the train coming here." Her cheerful face drew a little tighter. "Ran Fan needs a good automail mechanic and since we were headed this way, I told her about you, Winry." Suddenly smiling again, Paninya asked, "Where's Edward? You can use him as a model." When silence answered her question, the smile fell completely from Paninya's face. "Al? Winry?"

Alphonse swallowed loudly in the quiet kitchen. Across the room from him, Winry folded her arms tightly. He could see the sheen in her eyes as he said woodenly, "Brother's gone."

"Gone?" Paninya looked between them, dismay settling on her mobile features. "You mean?"

"We just came back from his funeral in Central." Winry's voice was unusually steady and Al wondered how much that cost her.

"Oh, no." Paninya slipped off the counter. She hugged Al tightly, whispering, "I'm so sorry," before going to Winry and hugging her, too.

"You have my condolences," Ling said, sympathy evident in his features. "It must be difficult to lose a loved one." Al noticed Ling's hand touching Ran Fan's shoulder lightly.

Winry mustered a smile. "Thank you, Ling," she said. Keeping an arm around Paninya, she guided the girl to the table and, once Paninya was seated, she fetched cups and passed them out. Setting the teapot in front of Al to pour, Winry rummaged up honey and cream and found a tin of cookies for them to eat. When everyone was settled, Winry sat next to Alphonse, taking a sip of her tea. "Ran Fan, if you don't mind me asking, how did you lose your arm?"

That was what had seemed peculiar, Alphonse realized. Reaching up the remove the mask, the girl revealed herself to them. She had a delicate beauty to her though her features marked her as the same race as Ling. Alphonse wondered absently where they were from. Colonel Mustang's features were reminiscent of this pair. With a soft, melodic voice, Ran Fan answered Winry. "The young master and I were in a battle a few weeks ago."

A crease formed on Ling's forehead. "It is my fault," he said. Ran Fan turned abruptly but he shook his head, forestalling her protest. "It's true. I did not take into consideration that our opponents were as dangerous as they were. Ran Fan's arm was severely damaged. When I managed to get her to a surgeon, he said there was no hope of saving it."

"I wanted to return home," Ran Fan said, "but the young master would not hear of it."

Alphonse couldn't quite read the tone of the young woman's voice. Was she pleased that Ling wouldn't send her home or upset?

"I met them in Central," Paninya said, setting her teacup down and reaching for a cookie. "I showed them my automail and," her eloquent shrugged filled in the rest as she bit into the sweet.

"I asked Paninya to take us to the best automail mechanic she knew," Ling said, inclining his head to Winry.

She froze in the act of raising her cup to her mouth. "The best?" she squeaked. "But Mr. Dominic," she said, waving a hand at Paninya.

The girl smiled back. "Dominic said your work was some of the best he'd ever seen, Winry."

Pride and wariness warred for dominance on Winry's face. "Then I'd be pleased to take your commission, Ran Fan. You do understand it takes time; the surgery to attach the nerves to the port, then after you heal from that, you will be in rehabilitation to learn to use the automail?"

Ran Fan dipped her head. "Paninya has explained that to me," she said. "If it will allow me to continue my duties, I am willing."

Alphonse thought it was the first genuine smile he'd seen from Winry since they'd met up in Central. "All right," she said, "I'll need to know what you use your arm for, so I can design an automail just for you." She pushed back from the table. "I have some spares I can show you but I do custom work for each client."

Den barked again, her head swiveling towards the door. Winry paused, halfway across the kitchen, her eyes wide.

"What is it?" Ling asked, rising to his feet. Al wondered how he'd missed seeing the sword the young man seemed to pull from out of the air.

"We're expecting a friend," Winry said tentatively.

"You do not seem to be very friendly," Ling said with a nod towards Alphonse's defensive pose. "You seem to be ready for an attack."

"Attack?" Paninya whipped around, staring at the door. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Winry said quickly.

"This isn't nothing, Miss Winry," Ling said with a frown. "You and Alphonse are afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Al retorted, stung.

Winry hushed them both and cocked her head, listening. "That's the Nedobecks' car. Lieutenant Hawkeye said someone would be driving her."

"Paninya, you, Winry and Ran Fan get in the next room," Alphonse barked. When Winry and Ran Fan began to protest, Paninya grabbed them each by the arm and hauled them along behind her, effectively silencing the argument.

The corner of Ling's mouth tilted up. "Direct. I like that."

"Lieutenant Hawkeye is a blond woman," Alphonse said, "but we've…I've run into someone who can change his shape, look like anyone." Ling nodded, his bangs sweeping into his eyes. Al thought the young man should've been more surprised at such a statement but there wasn't time to question him now. "If I don't think the woman is Lieutenant Hawkeye, I'll let you know."

The sound of a car door slamming alerted them and Al took a deep breath. "Ready?"

"Ready," Ling replied, a faint smile showing on his face.

Nodding, Alphonse walked stiffly to the door, opening it. The porch light spilled on the Nedobeck's car and a blonde climbed out of it, followed by a black dog. Relief nearly staggered Al. There was no way that Envy could have produced Black Hayate. "Lieutenant Hawkeye!" he said, stepping out onto the porch.

She scowled at him. "Alphonse, get back in the house."

"Yes, ma'am." He ducked back inside obediently, nodding at Ling. "It's her."

"Are you sure?" Ling asked, peering around him.

"Positive." Alphonse raised his voice. "Winry, Paninya, Ran Fan, it's all right."

Barking, Den raced out the door, Winry grabbing for the dog's collar and missing. Al braced himself for the sound of a dogfight but there was one shrill yelp then silence as Winry charged out after her dog. Paninya scooped up a couple of cookies and followed Winry. Ran Fan glared at Ling. "You should not have sent me from the room," she said tartly.

Ling gave her a wide smile. "Alphonse said it was safe."

"And if it were not?" Her chin jerked towards Al. "You would risk your life with an untried boy's?"

"Untried?" Al yelped. "I know how to fight!"

"You don't even have a weapon," Ran Fan said, her eyes raking over Al's body.

"I'm an alchemist. I don't need to carry a weapon," Al replied hotly. "I can make one if I need it but I've never needed one before."

"You are an alchemist?" Ling asked, his face lighting up. "Even better!"

"Better than what?" Alphonse asked as the door opened, letting in two dogs, Winry, Paninya and Lieutenant Hawkeye. The dogs raced through the house, disappearing into the living room, barking all the while.

"Alphonse!" Hawkeye snapped. "What did I tell you about letting strangers into the house?"

"Ma'am!" His spine stiffened automatically at the tone in the lieutenant's voice. "Paninya is a friend, ma'am!"

Paninya nodded casually, reaching into a cabinet and taking down another teacup. "And Ling and Ran Fan are my friends, so they're Al's and Winry's, too." She poured the tea and offered Hawkeye the cup. "Tea?"

Alphonse thought he'd never seen Hawkeye struck mute, as she seemed right now. She accepted the cup, an eyebrow lifting as she took in the five of them. Finally, her stance relaxed, her mouth curling up a bit. "All right," she said, "maybe it's a good thing you're here." She added some sugar to her tea. "We'll need help moving Winry and Al out of this house, after all."

* * *  
Izumi's teachings weren't working. Edward took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind but the noises around him intruded. Laughter, piano music, footsteps, voices; they all combined into a broken rhythm that disturbed his efforts to reach a state of calm. Each breath made the chains dangling from the clamps on his nipples shift, sending them shivering over his chest and stomach; that little movement running like a current to the metal ring Margot had slipped over his cock and balls earlier.

She'd let him watch that performance then had blindfolded him, complaining about covering his eyes. "So much emotion in them, Edward, every little bit of dread and anticipation is right there," she'd said, tapping the bridge of his nose. He'd fought the strip of cloth to no avail. Fear took up residence in his belly like a snake once Margot had tied the soft fabric in place. He felt her climb onto the bed next to him and she played with his body, soft touches of fingers and palms and mouth first then her thighs captured his hips and her moist heat slid along him, coaxing an erection.

Ed had tried to concentrate on anything other than the sensation of Margot's body but each time he'd managed to distract himself, she smacked his chest or thighs. Whatever she hit him with cracked and stung and Margot would whisper afterwards, "Pay attention, Edward."

When his hips rose involuntarily to coincide with her movements on top of him, when Ed tried to say, "Please," when he strained against the bonds, his hand opening and closing Margot slipped off of him. Ed didn't recognize the low, needy sound that spilled past the bit in his mouth but Margot's chuckle told him she did. She stroked his chest almost fondly.

"I almost want to keep you for myself," Margot said, plucking at his nipples until they stood up tight and hard. Metal suddenly encased them snugly and Edward winced at the sharp pain. He felt the shiver of chains trailing down to his groin. "But you're a special prize, aren't you?" Somehow, the chains were attached to the ring around his cock, so each breath he took snugged that metal band tighter. He'd never felt so hard before. "It isn't like I won't be able to play with you still," Margot said, her breath fanning the hair next to his ear. With impersonal hands, she bathed him, calling for assistance from Xandor. Edward heard the large man come into the room, tensing himself for whatever might happen. Xandor simply turned him over, allowing Margot access to Ed's back.

She combed his hair and Ed fought against relaxing into the soothing sensation of the brush against his scalp, not trusting what Margot might do to him next. Once done with his hair, Margot continued the bath, humming softly to herself. She popped him on the butt when she caught him shifting his hips, the silky friction of the bedding beneath him igniting his enflamed flesh. "Don't you dare come, Edward. Not after all my hard work."

Ed bit back a groan. Underneath him, his cock ached and leaked moisture against his stomach. He knew it would only take a jerk of his hips, maybe two and he'd come all over the bed. Margot's words held him in place, still and unmoving. If she'd hit him for not paying attention to her, he could only imagine what would happen if he came.

Finishing with the bath, Margot enlisted Xandor again and they untied him and carried Edward out of the room. His surprise was complete when they hung him on a wall, stretching him out then strapping him into place by his wrist and ankle, anchoring him by a loop of soft fabric around his waist. Margot touched his cheek almost gently. "Be good now," she said. "It might be more enjoyable for you." Giving the lower part of his body a final caress, Ed heard Margot walk away, Xandor following behind.

He wasn't sure how long it had been since they'd left him hanging here. Images of Barry the Chopper flashed behind his closed eyes but he didn't have any way to make an array that could help him get free. Dread coiled in his stomach and Ed swallowed hard against it. Each time the anxiety built, it became harder to beat it back. His breath came in pants, making the chains tighten and loosen, jerking the cock ring with each heave of his chest. Sweat made his bangs cling to his forehead and trickled down his spine.

The din of the house increased and Ed twisted his head, trying to make sense of the cacophony. The piano was louder now and the laughter came more frequently. Chewing at the bit, Edward picked out the sound of voices chattering cheerfully, Margot's clear laugh ringing out nearby.

What had she meant, calling him a special prize? Remembering Lizabet's invading fingers, Ed shuddered, the chains tickling his chest and stomach. Virgin, Xandor had gloated as the woman thrust her fingers up inside of him and Ed moaned slightly at the memory. What the hell was he in for?

Ed jerked his head towards a different sound. Laughter, deep and booming, seemed to walk along his spine. He thought someone was close but he couldn't be sure. His heart thundered in his chest and he swiveled his head as much as he could, trying to catch a hint of sound.

Was someone breathing? Edward swallowed, trying to hold his breath. His teeth clicked on the metal bar in his mouth and he thought he caught a noise from somewhere in front of him. Slowly, he turned his head, trying to pinpoint the sound. For some reason, he was reminded of a theater, of an audience watching a stage impatiently. His breath snarled in his throat as he realized he was the one on stage.

A scent wafted by him and he flared his nostrils, trying to identify it. Warmth told him that someone was very close to him, the sound of someone breathing loud in his ears. He gasped as the blindfold was ripped from his head and blinked rapidly, the dim light stabbing into his unprepared eyes. He could make out shadows that resolved themselves into people, men and woman, staring at him with varying degrees of interest. Edward clenched his teeth on the bit, glaring back at them as Margot skipped across the room to take a place next to someone.

"Isn't he lovely?" she asked, tilting her head up to look at the man next to her.

He stepped out of the shadows, his cool grey eyes roving over Edward's body. "Fullmetal," he said with barely contained glee. "I never expected to see you here."

Ed blinked rapidly. Amestris blue? He shot a glance at the man's shoulders, recognizing insignia that marked him as a brigadier general but he didn't know the man crossing the room in three long strides, unbuckling the strap that held the bit in his mouth. Gasping in relief, Edward worked his jaw and mouth, managing to stammer out, "Thank you, sir," as the man dropped the contraption on the floor.

"You're Colonel Mustang's protégé, aren't you, Fullmetal?" the Brigadier General asked, tucking his hands behind his back.

Raising his chin, Edward was forced to tilt his head into the wall to meet the man's pale eyes, so far above his own. "Yes, sir," he said and, when no further action seemed to be coming, asked, "Sir? Could you help me out, here?"

"Help you out," the Brigadier General said, his voice a low rumble. His thin lips creased into a smile as one of his hands shot out from around his back.

A yelp escaped Ed as that hand caught hold of his penis, squeezing tightly. The man's smile widened as he slid his palm to the base of Ed's cock, grabbing the chains on the ring and jerking them. "What the hell?" Ed yelled.

"Do you know, Fullmetal, that I had an encounter with Colonel Mustang back in Ishbal?" The Brigadier General zipped his fingers up the chains, tugging so Ed arched off the wall, trying to release the pressure on his chest. "He was an arrogant child back then."

"What," Ed asked through gritted teeth, "what are you doing?"

"He hasn't changed much from what I hear." The Brigadier General released the chains to smooth his hand slowly down Ed's chest, spreading his fingers to span Ed's stomach.

Ed shivered at that touch, swallowing hard. Fear tightened his gut and sweat pooled on his upper lip.

"And I understand you're following in his footsteps, too." Turning to face the crowd, the Brigadier General swept his hand at Ed. "This is a 'human weapon.' He may not look like much in this state," he paused to allow the laughter to die down, "but he can be quite dangerous."

"So can Margot," Stefan's voice rang out from the knot of people and Edward peered past the Brigadier General, his breath coming in gasps.

"He's too kind," Margot said, putting her hand to her cheek as if she blushed.

"You don't understand the raw power of these freaks," the Brigadier General said. "Harnessed, they can be used for good." He spun around, capturing Edward's head between his hands. "Right, Fullmetal? You'll be a good boy for me?" He leaned in close, his lips a bare breath away from Ed's. "Or would you rather be bad?"

Stomach churning, Ed tried to break free of the Brigadier General's grip. The man released his face abruptly and Edward smacked his head into the wall. His whole body felt cold now except for the throbbing between his legs. "We're both part of the military, Brigadier General," he said, trying to rein in the terror that leaked into his voice. "You should be helping me."

Pale eyebrows rose abruptly. "You think I'd want to help a freak like you? Mustang's terrier?" A laugh boomed out of his chest and the Brigadier General leaned in again, poking a finger into Ed's stomach. "You have no idea, do you, Fullmetal? I'm going to have fun with you. And when I get done, I'll let some of these good people have fun with you." He waved a hand at the crowd. "And I'll be back, every day, because when I'm doing a job, I want to make sure it's done right."

What hope Edward had upon seeing that blue uniform bled away as the brigadier general, making sure he had Ed's attention, unhooked his belt. Hearing a strange noise, Ed realized his teeth chattered. He clamped his jaw shut though he couldn't stop his body's trembling. The rank scent of fear was heavy in his nostrils and sweat broke out all over him.

"Take him off the wall," the Brigadier General commanded and Stefan and Xandor stepped up obediently.

Stefan's mouth tilted in a cruel smile as he worked on the straps holding Ed in place. "Don't think I've forgotten what you did to me," he said in his high voice.

"Don't think I've forgotten what you taste like, either," Ed snarled back.

"Stefan, did you try this boy?" the Brigadier General asked, pausing in the removal of his clothing.

"Nothing of the sort, sir," Stefan said, clamping one hand around Ed's wrist and the other around his waist. "He decided to try me." He wagged the bandaged finger, the rough fabric brushing over Ed's skin and making him flinch.

"Is that so?" Those pale grey eyes studied Ed again as Xandor and Stefan laid him out on a table someone brought in. "Well, Fullmetal? Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

Bravado kicked in as Ed struggled against the pair holding him down. "I'll tell you," he said, licking his lips, "but just you." Jerking his chin at the Brigadier General, Ed smiled tightly. "Come close."

The tall man leaned in and, nearly breaking Stefan's grip, Ed snapped his teeth into the Brigadier General's cheek. The man bellowed and Stefan slugged Ed twice across the temple before he relaxed his jaw. Blood coated his mouth and Ed spat the bit of flesh up into Stefan's face. The man squalled and drew back his fist again.

"No!" The roar came from the Brigadier General, his hand clamped over his damaged cheek. "Don't you touch him again. Not until I tell you. Margot!"

"Yes, sir?" She seemed dwarfed, standing next to the three huge men. Ed flicked a bloody, triumphant smile at her but she ignored it.

"Get something to patch me up. And hurry." Without waiting for her response, the Brigadier General backhanded Ed, grabbing him out of Stefan's hands and flipping him onto his stomach. Ed cried out as his penis slammed into the table. A huge hand shoved him back down when he tried to relieve the pressure. "No wonder you were wearing that bit," the Brigadier General said. He hauled Ed back, so his leg and stump dangled over the side of the table. "I'll teach you to bite me, Fullmetal." One hand planted in the small of Ed's back, the Brigadier General used the other to spread him wide.

Twisting, Ed managed a fierce glare over his shoulder. "Touch me any further and I'll make sure you regret it, Brigadier General."

"Funny," he said, blood streaming down his cheek and soaking into the collar of his jacket. He thrust forward and Ed bit his lip at the feeling of the Brigadier General's cock, pressing into him. The man flexed his hips and suddenly punched his way past the tight outer ring of muscles and Ed cried out in shock and pain. The Brigadier General shoved his way deeper inside of Ed, grasping Ed's hips and dragging him back until the boy had taken him up to the hilt. "That's the same thing your Colonel said to me in Ishbal."

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

* * *

The morning was grey, rain drizzling down. The drops slid across the window like mercury and Bradley turned away form it to face Archer. "You've done very well, Colonel," he said, smiling. "Congratulations."

Archer allowed a smile to cross his face. "Thank you, sir."

"No problems?" Bradley asked.

"None at all, sir." Archer as the Fuhrer sat down behind his desk. "The girl who worked for Brigadier General Hughes is in custody. The old woman is, regrettably, gone. However, I have sent the Crimson Alchemist out in an attempt to locate the remaining Elric boy."

Bradley pursed his mouth. "You are aware that Crimson and the Elric boy have clashed previously?"

"Yes, sir. Crimson is very aware that he is to return the boy to Central alive." Archer folded his hands behind his back. "I also sent the Strongarm Alchemist along for insurance."

"All right, then." Bradley flipped through the file that Archer had provided him with earlier. "Keep me informed, Colonel. If I'm unavailable, you can speak to Lieutenant Douglas."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," Archer said, sliding his eyes to the delicate seeming woman taking notes on their meeting.

"Thank you, Colonel Archer."

Archer threw a salute to the Fuhrer and spun on his heel, marching out of the office. He made his way back to the Investigations office. Archer had little doubt that Major Armstrong would be able to control Kimbley on the way to and from Rezembool. Armstrong had a fondness for the Elric boys, after all. He'd keep Kimbley from killing Alphonse and Kimbley would make sure that Armstrong fulfilled his duty in returning the boy to Central.

In the meantime, Archer would take great pleasure in integrating Mustang's staff into his own team. Opening the door to the office, he noted three men standing idly in a knot while a fourth was busy chatting up Lieutenant Allen.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Archer said.

The knot all straightened to attention, saluting as one. "Good morning, sir," the shortest and obviously youngest of them said.

"Morning, boss," the flirt said, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. A lit cigarette dangled from his lower lip.

Archer mentally frowned at the insubordination but only gestured with his head towards them. "If you'll come with me?" He heard them fall in behind him as he went through the anteroom to his private office. Holding the door for them, he told them to have a seat and ushered them inside. Closing the door, Archer walked to his desk, sitting down behind it. He pulled a stack of files from a pile on his desk. "You men have been assigned to me for the duration of your enlistment," he said, fanning the files like a deck of cards in front of him. "I understand your disappointment," Archer flicked his gaze over the quartet, "at the results of Colonel Mustang's trial. You have been part of his staff for some time."

The youngest shifted slightly but that was the only reaction.

"I believe that you'll find me a fair taskmaster. I will give you assignments and you will fulfill them. If you have a problem with an assignment, I expect you to notify me immediately. Investigations is a highly specialized unit." Archer focused his attention on the tallest of the men. "Warrant Officer Falman, I understand you have worked in Investigations before?"

Falman dipped his head. "Yes, sir, I worked under the late Brigadier General Hughes, sir, prior to his transfer to Central."

Archer nodded, opening the file as if he'd never seen it before. "You've done good work, Warrant Officer."

"Thank you, sir." Falman had no real reaction to the praise.

"In fact, in reviewing your files, it seems all of you are to be commended for your service to Amestris."

The flirt cocked an eyebrow. "Thanks, boss," he said.

Archer opened another file. "You're Second Lieutenant Havoc?" The flirt nodded, the cigarette still clinging to his lower lip. "Fuery? Breda?" The youngest and the stocky man both responded to their names. "And First Lieutenant Hawkeye?" Archer raised his head, templing his hands on top of the files. "Where is she?"

The men glanced to Havoc, who removed the cigarette from his mouth. "Begging your pardon, boss," he said, leaning an elbow on his knee, "but First Lieutenant Hawkeye was on a mission for Colonel Mustang."

"A mission?" Archer's brows drew down as he opened Hawkeye's file. "What kind of mission?"

Havoc blinked and glanced at the others. "Sorry, boss, we weren't privy to that meeting." He spread his hands, smoke drifting from the butt of his cigarette.

"So, First Lieutenant Hawkeye is still on this mission?" Archer asked sharply, closing her file. Once Mustang was discharged, the mission would be null and void. Hawkeye was operating without military sanction.

"Oh, no, sir." Fuery reached inside his jacket and, pulling out an envelope, he offered it to Archer. "I forgot to put that in First Lieutenant Hawkeye's file. Sorry, sir."

Archer opened the envelope, a sheaf of papers falling out. Unfolding them, he skimmed the paperwork. Everything was in order for Hawkeye's resignation from the military. Archer raised his gaze, seeing the knowledge of what was on that paperwork clearly in the four men's eyes. The date of the resignation was the day prior to Mustang's discharge and Archer had no doubt that the pair had known in advance what the results of the hearing would be and had taken this action. He felt he almost needed to applaud the audacity of Mustang and his adjutant.

"It appears that First Lieutenant Hawkeye has resigned from her post," he said out loud, giving the quartet their due. "Well. That will be all for now, gentlemen. I expect to see reports on my desk by the end of the day explaining your current and two most recent assignments."

"Yes, sir." They got to their feet and exited Archer's office. The lingering scent of burnt tobacco left a stale impression behind them. Archer closed the files, tossing them aside as he picked up the telephone receiver, mentally cursing the slow return of the rotary dial. On the other end, the machine rang twice before someone picked up.

A wispy voice asked, "Hello?"

"Archer," he said. "I need to know the whereabouts of Roy Mustang."

"Mustang?" The wispy voice grew harsh. "Colonel, I'm not the best person to find that information out for you."

"You've been hiding out pretty well prior to this. I need to know his location as soon as you can provide it." Archer's hand clenched on the receiver.

"I'll do my best, Colonel."

"I'll expect a telephone call within the day," Archer said, replacing the receiver in its cradle. Letting his gaze rest on the resignation paperwork in front of him, he asked, "What are you playing at, Mustang?"

* * *   
Gracia peered into the bedroom. The light filtering through the curtains, though dim, still allowed her a good view of Roy. He looked like a boy as he slept, an arm stretched out across the mattress, a foot peeping out from under the blankets. All worries and cares were missing from his face. Raising the camera in her hands, Gracia focused the lens and snapped a picture.

The flash didn't even wake him. With a shake of her head, Gracia set the camera on the bedside table, sitting on the mattress. As it dipped beneath her, Roy rolled towards her, his nose pressing against her thigh. His arm draped over her legs, making her smile at the sleeping man fondly. Still, she knew he had only a little bit of time before he needed to be on his way.

"Roy," she said, running her fingers over his silky hair. "Time to wake up."

He grunted, the heat of his breath warming her skin beneath her gown.

"Come on, Roy. If you don't get up, you won't get your coffee." Gracia envied him his long lashes as they fluttered open.

"Gracia?" he asked, brow furrowing slightly, his voice hoarse from sleep.

"Good morning." She stroked his shoulder blade, feeling the irregularity of his skin, the scar rigid under her fingers.

Roy pillowed his cheek against her leg, tightening his arm around her. "Thank you," he said, closing his eyes again.

Running her fingers up the back of his neck, she ruffled his hair. "You're welcome, Roy."

He smiled, turning so he could kiss her thigh. "Can I stay here? It's warm and peaceful." His other arm came around her, completing the circle.

"That's because Elicia isn't awake yet." Gracia grinned. "Come on, slugabed. You have a train to catch."

Releasing her reluctantly, Roy reached down, throwing off the blankets. A little pout formed as he glanced down at his morning erection. "How much longer do you think Elicia will be asleep?" he asked, raising a roguish eyebrow at her.

Gracia rolled her eyes. "You're incorrigible," she said, leaning down to kiss him warmly.

* * *  
Margot paused in the doorway, watching the boy sprawled on the table. Shaking her head, she continued into the room. "You weren't supposed to be left alone, Edward," she said, approaching him. "You might've fallen or tried to escape or something." The hem of her forest green robe swirled around her thighs as she stopped next to the table. Squatting, Margot pushed his bangs out of his staring eyes. "Edward?"

He didn't respond to her touch or her voice, never a good sign. Margot's mouth twisted. From the stories she'd heard about the Amestrian State Alchemists, they were supposed to be strong. If one night had broken Edward, it wouldn't sit well with Miss Lizabet. "You were asking for it," she said, rising to her feet smoothly, "biting the Brigadier General. What were you thinking, Edward? I told you to be good. If you had been, he probably would've kept you for himself, not let those other men have you, too."

Walking around him, Margot's frown deepened. Edward's lower lip was chewed ragged, the source of the blood masking his chin. A bruise covered nearly the side of his face from his temple down past his cheek where Stefan had struck him, the swelling half-closing one eye. The boy's back was striped with deep red welts the size and shape of a belt tongue. Blood and semen crusted between his leg and stump though the sticky residue spattered over his body. It would take time to clean him up, Margot knew, and even then, he might not be ready for another session tonight. She winced at the idea of explaining that to Miss Lizabet or Sherman, either of whom might decide to take it out on her.

Sighing, Margot yanked on the bell pull to summon assistance. "I suppose I'll have to get you cleaned up. Maybe that will bring you around." There was always a possibility he'd come out of it after being tended to. Turning back to Edward, she added, "And if you don't, well, there are patrons who like it when you just lie there."

Margot smiled, folding her arms in satisfaction. From the tears that suddenly started dribbling down his cheeks, Edward wasn't quite broken beyond repair yet.

* * *  
Alex Louis Armstrong sat with his arms crossed, staring out the window of the passenger car. The train passed through the rustic landscape, showing rolling green hills and farmers working to plow their fields. Mid-morning sunlight drenched the land and as the train swung around a curve in the rails, Armstrong had to turn away from the brilliance outside the window. Across from him, the Crimson Alchemist slept, the perpetual sneer on the other man's face finally relaxed. Armstrong had no illusions as to why Colonel Archer had sent them both on this mission.

He couldn't help but compare this trip to his previous journey to Rezembool. Edward Elric had also slept for much of the trip, when he hadn't been complaining about having a babysitter or that his brother rode in a livestock car with a flock of sheep. Kimbley hadn't actually said anything out loud about being accompanied by Armstrong but from the looks Crimson gave him, Armstrong was sure the thought crossed the other man's mind regularly.

Truly, Armstrong did not like to compare the two journeys. Edward and Alphonse Elric were companionable young men as opposed to Kimbley, for whom the word prickly seemed to have been coined.

As if he realized Armstrong was considering him, Kimbley jerked awake with a snort, stretching his arms out in front of him with a prodigious yawn. "Where are we?" he asked, making a face at the sunlight streaming through the window.

Armstrong pulled his pocket watch to consult it. "We should pull into Rezembool within the next two hours." He closed the watchcase and tucked the timepiece back in its customary pocket.

"Two hours?" Kimbley groaned, getting to his feet. He swayed a little with the rocking of the car. "We'd better find Fullmetal's brother when we get there," he said, stomping off down the aisle.

Armstrong turned his gaze out the window, hoping that Alphonse Elric and Miss Rockbell had already departed Rezembool. He sincerely did not want to find them there.

* * *   
Winry staggered down the stairs, her toolkit thrown over one shoulder, a dog leash wrapped around the opposite hand. The scent of bacon, eggs and toast greeted her as she hit the bottom step. Entering the kitchen, she found Paninya at the stove, Ling eating heartily, Alphonse picking at the food in front of him and Ran Fan, her frightening mask firmly back in place, watching all of them.

Ling noticed her first, smiling warmly. "Good morning, Miss Winry. Paninya is a good cook. You should join us." He hooked a chair leg with his foot, moving the chair out for her.

Winry dumped the kit and leash on the floor. The idea of eating curdled her stomach. "Where's Lieutenant Hawkeye?" she asked.

Alphonse gestured with a cock of his head. "Outside with the dogs," he said, tearing a piece of toast into chunks.

Patting his shoulder as she walked past him, Winry continued out onto the porch. Den was chasing Black Hayate, the younger dog charging ahead, slowing enough for Den to catch up, then bolting off again. Hawkeye stood watching them, a faint smile on her face. Winry wasn't sure if Hawkeye looked comfortable in her civilian clothing. Her stance was military stiff, her hands clasped behind her back as she followed the track of the playing dogs. "Good morning, Winry," she said.

Winry stepped off the porch, her breath streaming from her mouth in the cool air. "Good morning, Lieutenant Hawkeye." She winced, remembering. "Sorry."

Hawkeye gave her a wry grin. "I'm not quite accustomed to it, myself." Turning her attention back to the dogs, she went on. "Are you ready to go?"

"Ready?" Winry flapped a hand at the house behind her. "Everything I have is in there. All my memories, my tools, my life." Sighing shakily, she said, "I know you and Colonel Mustang have given up just as much. More." She raised her eyes to meet Hawkeye's. "But it's hard and I'm feeling sorry for myself." She clasped her shoulders, shivering once. "I just wanted to come home and let it all sink in. But I don't get to do that, do I?"

Reaching over, Hawkeye laid a hand on her back. "I'm sorry."

Winry said quietly, "Everything's changing and I just hope I can keep up."

"You'll be able to," Hawkeye told her reassuringly. "We're in this together, remember."

"Granny's going to hate this," Winry fretted as Den ran up to her, barking. She squatted, giving her dog a hug made clumsy by Black Hayate trying to butt in on the affection. "She's lived in Rezembool all her life."

"There will be adjustments for all of us," Hawkeye said as her dog, not getting the attention he wanted from Winry, reared up, planting his feet on her thigh. "Some of them will be more difficult than others. Leaving a home behind isn't easy but will be less so because you'll have your family with you."

Winry puffed out her breath to watch it form a cloud. "I'm sorry you and the Colonel got involved in this," she said regretfully.

Patting her dog, Hawkeye said, "We were involved long before Edward joined the military, Winry. Come along. We should get everyone moving. Black Hayate, come."

Winry laced her fingers through Den's collar. "Come on, old girl," she said, "into the house."

Al was busy doing the dishes when they entered the kitchen. He gave Hawkeye a sheepish look. "This won't take long." His eyes slid past to Winry. "I thought someone could use the food we're leaving. We can't take the eggs or the milk with us."

"You mean Ling left something?" Paninya asked, picking up a towel and drying a plate.

"Well." There was a faint glint of mischief in Alphonse's eyes that answered Paninya's.

"They make sport of you. Should I kill them?" Ran Fan asked seriously, her mask turning to Ling.

He waved the question away with an easy grin. "Let them make their jests."

"Is everyone ready to go?" Hawkeye asked, frowning at the frivolity.

"It isn't like I have much." Alphonse shrugged. "What I do is packed in with Winry's and Granny's stuff."

"We didn't bother unpacking," Paninya added, gesturing at Ling and Ran Fan.

As they spoke, Winry quickly removed the photographs off the wall, pictures of her parents, the boys, of her. Opening her toolkit, she hastily slid the photos into a black journal, covering it with a faded rag doll. She locked the kit and, calling Den to her, snapped the leash in place. "Ready," she said, facing Hawkeye with a firmness she didn't feel. Winry purposefully avoided looking around the room. The memories threatened to overwhelm her and she bit her lip, trying to maintain her composure.

"Mr. Nedobeck said he'd be by to pick us up and take us to the station," Hawkeye said briskly. She glanced at the clock hanging over the doorway. "He should be arriving within the next thirty minutes."

"You can give him the eggs and milk," Paninya suggested and Al nodded in agreement.

Clenching her fists, Winry said, "I'm going to make sure everything's locked up," and abruptly left the kitchen. She ran back up the stairs by feel, blinded by tears. This was home, Winry thought, standing just inside her room, clutching at the doorframe as if it would keep her from falling. This was where the boys would come. "Not anymore," she whispered to the air, walking to the doorway that led to the upstairs porch. Stepping out onto it, she wrapped her hands around the railing, staring off down the road. One last time Winry allowed herself a fantasy, letting the image of a golden-haired boy wearing a red jacket appear, a suitcase hanging over his shoulder as he walked along the dirt road, finally coming home.

Clapping a hand over her mouth, Winry managed to choke out, "Goodbye, Ed," before turning resolutely from the familiar view. Squaring her shoulders, she strode back into her room, firmly closing the door and locking it. Reaching up to draw the curtain, Winry hesitated, seeing a flash of something out on the road. Unlocking the door again, she pushed it open, shading her eyes against the sunlight, recognition sending her stumbling back into the room.

Winry's heart climbed into her throat as she raced back down the stairs for a second time this morning. "Lieutenant Hawkeye! The military is coming!"

* * *


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

* * *

Morning, as far as Opal Armstrong was concerned, was the best time to be outside. It didn't matter if she was working with her horses or with the groundskeeper to maintain her beautiful garden; she enjoyed being in the warming sunlight. Today was glorious for gardening and Opal assumed that it would still be glorious later, when she and Albert ventured into town for the Mayor's party. Now, though, she was busy working the soil for the irises as well as checking that the tulips were still doing well.

"All right, Victoria," Opal said, tilting her head back to look at the young woman standing above her, "let me see your transmutation circle for increasing the size of a flower head."

Victoria blinked her green eyes solemnly then a grin cut over her face. Dropping to her knees next to Opal, she drew an array in the soft dirt of the tulip bed. "How's this, Miss Armstrong?" she asked proudly, leaning back on her hands to allow Opal to see her work.

Opal studied the array carefully. "Very good, Victoria. Now, I'd like you to go ahead and transmute the tulips in this bed."

Delighted with the praise, Victoria leaned forward, her rich red pigtails falling to either side of her face as she planted her hands on the circle, transmuting the flowers in the bed. Opal watched as the flower heads expanded, their colors intensifying from Victoria's alchemy. Victoria dropped back onto her haunches, her smile triumphant as she swiped the back of her wrist over her forehead.

"Well done!" Opal gave her a one-armed hug. "Excellent work, Victoria. You do have the makings of a first rate plant alchemist."

"It's all your training, Miss Armstrong," Victoria said shyly.

"My training wouldn't amount to much if you didn't have natural talent, girl." Opal tapped Victoria on the end of her button nose.

"How lovely. More of that freakish alchemy."

Victoria stiffened and Opal laid a hand on her shoulder comfortingly. "It isn't freakish, cousin, it's science. If you were part of the Armstrong family line, I'm sure you'd be proud of the work that Victoria can do." Adjusting her straw hat with her free hand, Opal looked up at her tall cousin standing a short distance away, his face a study in ennui.

One of his eyebrows cocking up over the pence nez, Albert said, "It's still freakish. Like magic." He waved a long-fingered hand. "Or religion."

"It is not," Victoria said hotly, her hands fisting as she glared up at Albert. "It's just what Miss Armstrong says it is. A science that will help me be a better gardener."

Albert rolled his pale yellow eyes. "A better gardener."

"Cousin, do you have anything of interest to say or are you going to simply stand there and be a pest?" Opal asked tartly.

"Well, now that you mention it." Albert looked pointedly at Victoria.

She huffed, getting to her feet and stomped away. "I'll go check the other tulip beds, Miss Armstrong," Victoria said over her shoulder, her pigtails fairly quivering with outrage.

Albert watched the girl stalk away and ambled a little closer to Opal. "It's been three weeks," he said, turning his attention towards the sky.

"I told you, this sort of action means we must take our time," Opal said, using her trowel to loosen the dark, rich soil of the flowerbed. "Lizabet is very much an influence in Rivercrest and has far more standing than I have." She rubbed her chin, leaving a smudge behind. "Me not being a native of Creata does have something to do with it. Still, tonight is the party; I'm sure that you'll be able to meet someone there who can assist you in your entry to Lizabet's house."

Sighing heavily, Albert shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "I just feel useless sitting here, waiting for something to happen, Opal," he said.

She blinked at the intensity in his voice, so out of character for 'Cousin Albert'. The tension thrumming through his forearms showed his agitation though outwardly, if one didn't know the man, it would be assumed he was completely bored. "Lizabet will take good care of your friend," Opal said slowly, "if she believes he will earn her the right money."

Albert shook his head slightly, the corner of his mouth turning up in something very different than a smile. "Ed's probably fighting anything that they try to do to him, Opal. I need to get him out of there." His jaw tensed. "Damn it, now I wish I was an alchemist. If Roy was here, or even your cousin, we could've gotten Ed out already."

"And that could cause problems with Amestris, cousin, and you know it." Opal swatted at his foot with the end of her trowel. "Think, Albert," she hit his latest name with specific emphasis, "if State Alchemists attacked even a brothel in Creata, what the reaction would be."

His sigh was ragged but he nodded reluctantly. "All right. Party tonight. Any idea who I should try to impress at the party, cousin?"

"We'll know once we get there," Opal said.

"I hate this waiting around," Albert said. "I think I'll go pick out what I'm going to wear tonight." He paused. "Victoria despises me, doesn't she?"

"Do you blame her?" Opal shooed him off, hearing his barking laugh as he walked back towards the house.

* * *  
Hawkeye caught Winry's shoulders. "How many did you see?" she asked, giving the girl a shake.

Winry's brow creased. "Just two." She reached out as Hawkeye started to turn away. "But one of them is Major Armstrong."

Unsurprised, Hawkeye nodded. "The Major is known for being fond of the Elric brothers," she said, her attention focused on Alphonse.

"What are we going to do?" Al asked, rising to his feet.

"Only two men?" Ling smiled easily, bouncing to his feet. "Certainly we are more than enough to deal with them."

"One of those men is a friend, Ling," Hawkeye said sharply, "not to mention that if only two men were sent to retrieve Alphonse and Winry, it's likely they're both State Alchemists."

"Did you recognize the other man, Winry?" Al asked.

When the girl shook her head, Hawkeye knew that walking out of the house wasn't an option. While Armstrong would be more than willing to look the other way, she doubted his companion would feel the same. And now was not the time to start a firefight. When she'd come here last night, she'd automatically checked the area for escape routes, dismayed to realize there were none that would allow them enough ground cover to slip away easily.

"Why do they want you two?" Paninya asked, her expressive eyes swinging between Alphonse and Winry.

"Alphonse is wanted for his alchemic abilities." Hawkeye rapidly considered alternatives as she answered. "Winry they'll hold as a hostage to make Alphonse do as they want."

"That doesn't sound good," Paninya said, completely serious. "Is there anyplace we can hide?"

"Ed and I used to hide in the basement when we were little," Winry said slowly, her gaze resting on Al, who blanched.

"The basement?" he squeaked, shuddering. "It's so creepy down there."

Paninya grinned. "I'll hold your hand."

At the same time, Winry, scowling, asked, "What's wrong with the basement?"

"We don't have time to argue about it," Hawkeye said before the fight could escalate. "Where's the basement?"

In answer, Winry led the way to a door that creaked when it opened. She flipped a switch and a light came on. Cool air wafted out of the dim hole and Hawkeye realized that the shadows she'd thought were dismembered limbs were actually automail pieces. No wonder Alphonse didn't like it down there, she thought with a mental shiver. "Grab your things and get down there," Hawkeye barked out loud. "Black Hayate, come." She gestured and her dog trotted down the stairs as the kids ran around, gathering up their luggage.

"What about the trunk?" Alphonse asked, kicking it lightly.

"Leave it," Hawkeye told him, swinging her own bag on her shoulder. Winry grabbed Den by the collar and led the dog to the stairs. Den planted her feet, obviously not wanting to go into the basement.

"Paninya," Ling said, tossing her his bag. She caught it as Ling scooped Den into his arms, carrying the dog down the stairs.

"Thanks, Ling," Winry said, offering a hand to Ran Fan.

"Alphonse?" Hawkeye spotted the boy heading for the back door. She ran after, in time to see him clap his hands and press them to the ground. Scuffmarks and footprints appeared in the grass and damp earth, making it seem as if a group of people had run from the house. "Clever," she said, nodding.

Al grinned as he met Hawkeye's eyes. "Just wait." Ushering her through the basement door, Al closed it tightly behind him and transmuted the wall and the door, making it appear that there had never been an opening at all.

Nodding her approval, Hawkeye led the way down the stairs, turning off the light once they reached the basement floor. The subterranean room had no windows and only the faintest stream of light filtered in from chinks in the floor over their heads. Hawkeye waited until her eyes adjusted before walking across the basement to join Black Hayate. "We have to be quiet," she said, sitting down and cupping her dog's muzzle in her hand. "Winry, don't let your dog bark."

"Right." Winry pulled Den to her, coaxing the dog to lie down. Al settled on the other side of Den, stroking her.

Silence fell heavy and ominous over them all as they waited.

* * *   
Kimbley paused, his hands on his hips, studying the idyllic scene before him. The dirt road slipped down the gentle incline between stone walls, leading towards a two-story yellow house, spring green grass almost seeming to grow as he stared. "This is the place?" he asked, the letters on the sign reading "Rockbell Automail" winking in the morning sunlight.

"Yes." Armstrong's moustache twitched.

Lacing his fingers and stretching his arms out in front of him, Kimbley cracked his knuckles, a lopsided grin splitting his face. "Looks like it's all alone out here." He rolled his eyes up at Armstrong. "You'd think an automail mechanic would live someplace less," he screwed up his face in disgust, "rural."

Armstrong's moustache quivered in outrage. "The Rockbells are highly respected in their field. They could command high prices, were they to move to a large city, such as Central. But they prefer a more pastoral setting."

Kimbley made a rude noise. "Boring but I guess it's good for us, huh?" He nudged Armstrong with an elbow. "C'mon, let's go ferret out the brat." Leading the way to the house, Kimbley bounced up the stairs of the porch, knocking on the screen door to make it rattle. "Anyone home?" he crooned as Armstrong circled around to the back of the house. "Hello?"

When no answer came, he pulled open the door, stepping inside. The smell of breakfast greeted him and Kimbley sniffed appreciatively. "Someone's a decent cook," he called as he sauntered further into the house.

A large crate sat in the hall near the kitchen and Kimbley opened it absently, seeing packed clothes and memorabilia. He rifled through it quickly, nothing particularly interesting him; clothes, some photos, a few books. Making a face, he shoved the trunk aside and continued his exploration of the house. Hearing Armstrong tromping along, Kimbley ran up the staircase to the second floor, hoping that he'd be able to surprise someone there.

There were two rooms upstairs, one a combination workroom and bedroom, the other a bedroom. Someone definitely loved the workroom, he decided. While items were jumbled around, there was a particular order to the placement of the tools. Kimbley flipped through some notes and found a sheaf of component drawings. Sneering, he tossed them aside, poking through various nuts and bolts and gears and wires. The closet revealed nothing out of the ordinary; a few dresses, some worn out shoes. The next room was equally as tidy and as empty, disappointing Kimbley. He'd been looking forward to finding Fullmetal's little brother and finishing the game they'd started outside of Lior. Heading back down the stairs, he found Armstrong staring into one of the rooms, a peculiar expression on his face.

"Don't start bawling, Strongarm," he said, his lip curling in disgust as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His palms tingled beneath the transmutation circles tattooed into them. He quelled the urge that rose in him, the same feeling he'd had to clamp down the past few days but it was getting more and more difficult.

"There are signs of people leaving in a great rush," Armstrong said in his bluff voice. Gesturing towards the back door, he went on. "I do not think we missed them by much." Puffing up, he flexed his muscles. "I can track Alphonse Elric using the techniques handed down through my forebears."

Kimbley yawned through the speech. "Sure, sure." He waved a hand at the larger man. "Go. Track. Somehow, I doubt you'll find anything." Leaning against the newel post, Kimbley said, "Bet the stationmaster called and told them we were coming. These little bitty towns, people don't know when to keep their mouths shut." As he said the last word, Kimbley slammed his hands onto the newel post, transmuting it. He leaped off the step and past Armstrong, grinning as the wood contracted and suddenly exploded in a shower of splinters. "Think we should show the locals what happens when you stick your nose into the military's business?"

"What do you intend to do?" Armstrong's eyes tightened. "The military will not condone the use of force against civilians who've done nothing wrong."

"But someone warned Fullmetal's brat brother we were on our way," Kimbley said in a reasonable voice. "That means someone needs to be punished."

"I'm sure there's a better way to handle this." Armstrong frowned prodigiously. "One that will not compromise the military's standing in this town, small that it is."

"But provides a warning?" Kimbley nodded thoughtfully. "I've got a great idea." He ran out of the house, gesturing for Armstrong to follow him. "It'll be a symbol to everyone who sees it," he said, looking around cheerfully. "Something big enough that they can't ignore."

Somehow, Armstrong's frown deepened. "What are you going to do, Kimbley?"

With a smile, Kimbley walked up to the house, laying his hands against the wood. The transmutation circles on his palms glowed as he worked on the construction of the wood, of the metal pipes, of everything that lay within that building. "Blow it up, of course," he said, laughing and leaped away from the house, flinging himself to the ground as his alchemy worked on the structure with a horrible, crackling noise, like a fire suddenly burning out of control. "If I were you, I'd get down," he shouted over the popping sound, flinging himself to the ground, knowing what would happen next.

Armstrong stared up at the house, far too close for comfort, as the reverberation built into the roar of a conflagration. Relief flooded him, that his young friends were far away from this; that they hopefully wouldn't have to return to see the destroyed shell of the place they'd called 'home'.

And then the house exploded, wood and metal and brick sweeping out in a mass, like a swarm of bees blasting out of a disturbed hive, winging out of the center in all directions. Armstrong dove to the ground, something slicing open his cheek with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. Over the noise of the detonation, he could hear Kimbley's laughter, remembering with a sudden horror Crimson's fondness for exploding Ishbalans during the war.

It seemed bits fell from the sky for hours afterwards. Kimbley whooped and laughed, all but doing a victory dance around the edges of the house. "Wasn't that beautiful, Strongarm?" he shouted, flinging his hands towards the sky. He spun, his manic smile firmly in place. "That should be a good warning, don't you think?"

"I think it was overkill," Armstrong said quietly, folding his arms. Those children had suffered enough, losing Edward and Doctor Pinako. Now there was nothing left for them of their home. He only hoped that wherever they'd hidden themselves, they hadn't seen it happen.

The sound of an engine intruded on Kimbley's excitement and he whirled towards the road, seeing a car slowly moving towards them. "Hey, look. Transportation back to the train station." He waved his arms enthusiastically and the car crept closer. Not waiting for it to come to a complete stop, Kimbley swept up to the driver's side, leaning in the window. "Hey, pops," he said, showing all his teeth, "what say you offer the military a little assistance?" He hooked a thumb at Armstrong. "My companion and I need to get to the train station."

The white-haired man's face blanched. "O-of course," he said, "I'd be happy to drive you."

"Good." Kimbley waved at Armstrong. "We've got a ride. Let's get out of here and tell the Colonel what we found out."

"Yes, of course," Armstrong said, striding to the car. Kimbley claimed the back seat, stretching out over it. Armstrong sat in the front, next to the driver, offering the older man a strained smile. "We appreciate your kindness."

"Your thanks aren't necessary," the man said nervously, bobbing his head so his hair fell into his eyes. "Not a problem. Let me get turned around and we'll be on our way." He guided the car closer to the destroyed house, his eyes wet and tired. Armstrong tried not to look at the man as he performed a three-point turn, sending the vehicle back onto the road and towards the train station.

Behind him, Kimbley began singing snatches of a bawdy tune that had been popular among the soldiers back in Ishbal. As he reached the chorus, Armstrong bowed his head and prayed again for peace.

* * *   
Rose felt like she'd been following Lyra forever. The young woman walked steadily without fail, as if nothing affected her. No weather, no town, no person seemed to be enough to halt her progress. Still, she was solicitous of Rose and her baby. When they needed a rest, Lyra would stop, though her gaze was always turned to the horizon.

She wished she knew where Lyra was leading her. Rose was sure that Lyra hadn't forgiven the assistance she'd offered Edward in foiling Scar's plan to use soldiers as components to make the Philosopher's Stone. Rose could only hope that Lyra didn't hold that against her personally. Yes, the soldiers had hurt her and used her badly but Rose had moved past that, as much as she could, with the birth of her son. And not all military men were bad. Edward had gone against his own commands, after all, to make sure that Lior was cleared before the soldiers could attack to finish off the town. Of course, Edward was still a boy, still idealistic. Rose smiled faintly in remembrance of him, of the equal amounts of horror she'd seen in his eyes when he realized what had happened to her at the hands of the military and also the pride he'd had in her for continuing to move forward, not letting such a thing paralyze her. She could only hope that he was still out there, still moving on his path, he and his brother, both.

The people of Lior who had fled the city with them had long since scattered in the wake of their path. Rose wasn't even sure when Scar turned away. It may have been the first night after they'd escaped the military. Rose wished him well but only hoped that the Ishbalan wasn't planning on returning to Lior. She worried that Scar might seek retribution from Edward for foiling Scar's attempt at creating that stone.

So far, Lyra hadn't mentioned her own feelings about that botched attempt. Rose knew the other woman had to be furious but Lyra didn't say anything about it. She just kept leading the way and Rose kept in step beside her, wondering, sometimes, what the other woman thought. Did she hate Rose for helping Edward, for agreeing with him? Or was she resigned to the fact that the plans that she and Scar had concocted had failed? Whichever it was, Rose didn't feel comfortable bringing it up.

Her baby made a soft noise and Rose cupped his head, stroking the downy fuzz of his hair. He nuzzled against her throat and she couldn't help but smile. She didn't have her family or her love anymore but she'd gained this precious little life, someone who needed her and depended on her. She had to be strong for him. She had to keep moving forward to be able to provide for him. And someday, she hoped that she'd have a chance to introduce her son to Edward, to show him the kind of man she wanted him to grow up to be.

"Rose?"

She brought her thoughts back to the here and now, smiling at Lyra. "Yes?" she asked in her soft voice.

"There's a place ahead, where we can rest for the night." Lyra folded her arms, studying the city that lay ahead of them. "In Central."

"Central?" Rose's brows knitted together. "Why Central?"

"I have friends there," Lyra said, though from her expression, Rose wouldn't have guessed that these people were anyone that Lyra truly cared about.

Rose said cautiously, "If you think they're all right, then I'm fine."

Turning slightly towards her, Lyra offered her a half smile. "We'll be as safe with them as we'd be anywhere in this world. Safer, maybe." She laid a cool hand on Rose's shoulder. "Come on. Let's get going. I don't want to be walking around Central's streets after night."

She started off again, Rose falling into step beside her after a slight hesitation. Central seemed huge in comparison to Lior. Rose wondered how easy it would be to lose herself in such a place. Bouncing her son in her arms, she hoped that this would be the start of a new life for them both.

* * *   
The owl turned its head, blinking its huge eyes in the dim light of the evening. It scraped its beak against the tree bark of its current perch, staring out over the forest floor, searching for the slightest movement that would indicate prey. Swiveling its head, it focused its attention on something in the grass, a little bubbling motion. Shifting its grip on the branch, the owl turned around, hunching over slightly in preparation to launch. The movement happened again and the owl hopped into the air, spreading wide its wings to glide towards its prey.

The flash of light made the owl flail its wings in protest, screeching in dismay as it flapped heavily away from the thing crawling up out of the ground.

Shaking his head, Al scrambled a few paces more and collapsed onto the cool grass, panting heavily. He really wanted to just lie there, get his bearings, but the others might need his help. Groaning, he forced himself up, reaching back into the hole. A pair of hands slapped into his and he hauled on them, pulling Winry out next. Her face was filthy and her eyes red and staring. He stroked a strand of hair off her face and she dredged up a smile from somewhere, both of them reaching down for Ran Fan, her face pale in the moonlight, her mask discarded somewhere in the tunnel long hours ago. Ling and Hawkeye helped with the dogs, lifting them as high as they could while Al and Winry tugged at their collars, dragging them out of the earth. Paninya followed the dogs, then Hawkeye. As limber as he was, Ling probably could've scrambled up himself but accepted the help anyway.

"I never want to do that again," Paninya said, when she'd caught her breath enough to speak.

"What?" Ran Fan asked, shaking her head and Al realized he wasn't the only one having a hard time hearing anything.

Winry managed to sit up, fixing a stare on Hawkeye. "Who was that?" she asked. "Who would do such a thing?"

"Kimbley," Al said from where he sprawled on the grass, Den sniffing at his hand. "He hates me."

"Kimbley hates everyone," Hawkeye said dryly. "Except perhaps himself."

"He blew up my house," Winry said, sounding thin and lost and Paninya looped an arm around her shoulders, giving them a squeeze.

"If Al hadn't used his alchemy, we'd all be dead," Ling said, almost cheerful about it.

"Thanks, Al," Paninya said, smiling at him tiredly.

He waved at her, coughing some of the dust out of his lungs. "I'm just glad I could burrow us out of there."

"You did a good job, Alphonse," Hawkeye said, the strain of being long underground noticeable in the slight tremor of her hands.

Al nodded, too exhausted to reply.

"We should rest here and tomorrow, we'll see about going to the train station," Hawkeye went on. "Since he was unable to locate you, Kimbley may stick around, try to find you." She nodded at Al and Winry. "He might think someone might be hiding you."

"Just the squirrels," Winry mumbled, making Paninya smile.

"We'll need to sit watch," Hawkeye said, though she seemed as exhausted as the rest of them, her fingers buried in Black Hayate's fur to hide their trembling.

"I'll watch," Ling said.

"And I." Ran Fan's delicate face turned to Ling as he opened his mouth. "I am able to raise an alarm, young master," she said firmly, "and our friends," she gestured towards Al and Winry, "have lost much this day."

"Can we have a fire?" Al asked. He swung his head, looking back over the distance they'd come. He could just make out people milling around the remains of Winry's house, lanterns coming out as the dusk deepened towards true night. When Hawkeye's brow furrowed, he sighed, clapping his hands and planting them against the earth. Al hoped that he wouldn't give out doing this minor alchemy and was relieved when a pit appeared, deep enough that flames wouldn't be readily visible. Not bothering to hide his exhaustion, he said, "I think we're far enough in the woods that the light wouldn't be spotted."

Hawkeye considered this and nodded, sending Ling and Paninya looking for wood. Winry stumbled after them, shaking her head at their ineptitude at finding dry branches after they brought back green. "Don't either of you know anything about making a fire?" she moaned.

"Ran Fan, are you really up to keeping watch?" Hawkeye asked as Al lay in the grass, eyes hidden in the crook of his elbow.

"I am fine, Miss Hawkeye," Ran Fan assured her. "Let Alphonse and Winry rest."

He heard the faint buzz of their voices, the soft rustle of the leaves when the wind touched them. The ground was chilly and a little damp and Al knew he should get up, make something more comfortable for them to sleep on. The grass could be transmuted into mats to keep the cold from seeping into their bones but he felt like he couldn't quite move. He'd used so much alchemy today, he was spent; worn down from protecting the group from Kimbley's explosion and then burrowing out of the house and into the woods to make sure that Kimbley wouldn't see their escape. Breakfast seemed a long time ago and Al wasn't sure when they'd have a chance to eat again, not that he felt hungry, but he knew his body needed fuel to keep moving.

He knew there would be food in the forest, all he had to do was get up and look for it but the idea of moving seemed too much to contemplate. Behind Al's closed eyes, Edward's face suddenly came into view. "Good job, little bro!" he said, flashing a proud grin.

He pretended he'd fallen asleep when Winry, Paninya and Ling returned with the firewood, not wanting to share his tears with them. The crook of his elbow was damp by the time the fire was started and everyone had settled for the night.

* * *


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

Brigadier General Theodore Sherman signed off on the last report of the day with a flourish, capping his pen and laying it above the blotter. He neatened the stack of papers, centering them on the desk, mentally congratulating himself on another day well done. The windows showed that night was fast approaching and he still had to get ready for the night’s celebration.

Rising, Sherman collected his hat and overcoat, pulling both on as he walked out of his office. His adjutant worked studiously in the anteroom, the rest of his command equally as devoted to their tasks. Sherman watched them all with a proprietary air. He did love a well-oiled machine and the military provided so well to his tastes.

Lieutenant Colonel Dixon raised his grizzled head as Sherman cleared his throat. “Yes, Brigadier General?”

“I’ve finished those reports, Dixon,” he said, waving a hand back into his office. “When you finish here, they can be delivered as appropriate.”

“Yes, sir,” Dixon said, nodding. The scar that crossed from his jaw to the corner of his eye twitched under Sherman’s regard. “Is there anything else, sir?”

Sherman tugged at the cuffs of his overcoat, aligning them with his uniform sleeves. “No, Dixon, just contemplating tonight.”

“Tonight’s the Mayor of Rivercrest’s party,” Dixon said, remembering. “Did you need for me to arrange a driver?”

Showing his teeth, Sherman shook his head. He had plans for after the party and a driver could complicate matters. “I’m fine, Dixon. A ride has already been arranged.” Throwing a salute, Sherman waited for his men to return it before striding out of his office.

Outside, clouds marred the sky, obscuring the earliest stars. Sherman settled his overcoat more tightly over his shoulders as he walked along the road to his quarters. The men who passed by offered salutes and Sherman returned them sharply. He made note of the soldiers whose salutes were sloppy, thinking he’d need to speak to Dixon about it. That could wait, though. His attention was firmly focused on tonight’s celebration.

Rivercrest’s Mayor may have controlled the city on paper but the true power lay within those behind the throne. Sherman had met all of these people; had a particular bond with Lizabet Marin. Her appetites were the same as his; her lust for power nearly as great. While he found her physical form disgusting, he could only admire how she’d risen past that to become such a dominant figure in Rivercrest. There were rumblings among the citizens, specifically from those who believed that a brothel owner should not retain such a stranglehold over the city but as of yet, no one had actually come forth to challenge her position. And Sherman intended to remain on her good side.

Reaching his private quarters, Sherman unlocked the door, entering the apartment. He hung up his overcoat and set his hat on the rack. Personal correspondence rested on the table nearest the door and Sherman picked up the envelopes to flip through them. One was larger and heavier than the others with a large, green “L” in place of the return address. Sherman reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded knife. He used the blade to slit open the envelope, spilling its contents on the table.

Photographs stared up at him and Sherman couldn’t help but grin, stirring the pictures with a forefinger. Excitement increased the slow, steady drumming of his heart. Unconsciously, Sherman licked his lips at the various visions of the boy in front of him.

Scooping up the photographs, he strode the precise eleven steps to take him to the chair next to the telephone, settling into it before picking up the receiver and making his call. When a voice came on the line, Sherman made his request. While waiting for the answer, he reviewed the photographs again.

“Margot? Oh, good. Make sure my little terrier is ready tonight.” At her question, he responded. “Hmm? Yes, I’ll be by shortly after the celebration tonight.” Sherman smiled at her enthusiasm. “I’m sure you’ll make him lovely.” He ended the call, pulling a specific photograph out. Sherman remembered being inside the boy, using his long hair as reins. His body stirred at the memory and the first flush of arousal sung in Sherman’s veins.

Spinning the signet ring on his finger, Sherman felt the interlocking diamond pattern on the face with the pad of his thumb. He stood, tossing the photographs onto the table. One picture slid all the way across, dropping to the floor. Sherman stooped to pick it up, smiling at the scene in his hand.

The photograph caught the anguish of the boy as Sherman branded him, using the same ring he’d used on that pup, Mustang. The silent scream, the way his body was stretched out completely in agony, the tears caught in his lashes; all of it just added to the excitement Sherman felt in remembrance. His mouth watered at a particular memory, one of Ishbal and how well that damned pup of a State Alchemist had learned his lesson. Now, he had the pup’s terrier under his boot. Sherman smiled to himself, thinking that the alchemists were right in one way – there was a definite circular pattern to life.   
Mustang he’d only had one night in Ishbal. He’d nearly been too old for Sherman then. As for Mustang’s little terrier, Sherman planned on keeping him for a while longer.

* * *   
The young man staring back at him looked terrified. Edward blinked, seeing the young man do the same and jerked away from the mirror, unable to stare at his reflection anymore. He couldn’t focus on anything, his eyes darting from the corner of the cage to the wall opposite to the ceiling to the floor. Still, the mirror called and he found himself studying himself in it, the changes mystifying.

Margot had taken particular care with him today, cleaning him then oiling his body so his skin gleamed. She’d washed and brushed his hair until it lay loose around his shoulders like a stream of gold. She’d decorated his face with unguents and colors and had aroused him with touches and strokes. When he was engorged and couldn’t stop his hips from pumping, she’d caged his penis in a ring, spikes poking into his sensitive flesh.

Edward shuddered, his teeth clicking on the bit in his mouth. Margot hadn’t stopped with the cock ring but had showed him something that reminded him of a whiskbroom. She’d flicked it in front of his dazed eyes, letting the harsh strands trickle over his bare chest. “Do you know what this is, Edward?”

He’d learned ignoring her meant pain so he’d shaken his head.

“It’s a horsetail.” The lashes of it slid across his nipples and he hissed, hypersensitive skin reacting to that touch. Margot smiled, pleased at his response. “With that bit in your mouth, you remind me of a pony, all piss and vinegar.” She stroked his cheek and Ed tried hard not to lean into her hand. When had touch become so important? “And if you’re going to wear a bit like a pony, I thought you needed a tail like one, too.”

Stefan had helped flip Ed over and held him still while Margot inserted the handle inside of his body. Tightening his muscles did no good against this intrusion and Edward couldn’t help but compare it to previous invasions. At least Margot had been generous enough to prepare him for the entry, as opposed to Sherman, who bulled his way inside.

“Now,” Margot had said, stroking her fingers lightly along Ed’s spine, making him curl like a cat, “you need to be good and keep that tail in place.” She’d kissed Edward’s cheek and cuffed his wrist against one of the bars before she and Stefan locked him in the cage. “You don’t want to know what happens if it comes out.”

Terror had tightened his ass and his balls at the look in Margot’s eyes. Ed wasn’t sure he’d gotten over that expression yet. He was afraid to relax any part of his body at this point. That fear coiled in his belly, a cold snake that seemed to whisper whenever Ed’s thoughts fell in silent chaos.

Restlessly, Ed wriggled in the cage. He felt like a damned dog in the pound, waiting for someone to take him home. Who would, the snake asked, who’d want a broken thing like you? He shuddered at the thought, lowering his head so he didn’t have to see the fear reflected in the eyes in the mirror.

* * *  
Albert Draken led his cousin into the room with a flourishing sweep. Opal, he had to admit, cleaned up good; she looked positively ravishing in her rich golden-brown gown with crystals and beads sewn carefully into the vee of the collar and wrapping around her narrow waist. He had dressed to match her in darker brown, since, after all, he was accompanying her this evening. His preference for brighter colors led Albert to wear a brilliant red shirt beneath his jacket and stuff a silk handkerchief in the eye popping Xingian style in his breast pocket.

“Be good, cousin,” Opal reminded him before they were announced, tapping his chest with her folded fan.

“Am I ever anything but?” he asked, adjusting his pence nez on his long nose and giving her a roguish grin. She raised her eyes towards the heavens, obviously about to recite a prayer for them both but they were ushered in before the words could leave her lips.

The Mayor and his family lined the stairs, waiting to greet them as they walked through. Opal took the time to introduce Albert, though she seemed to wish she wasn’t required to do so. He, in turn, flirted with the Mayor’s wife and eldest daughter and turned his charm full blown on the Mayor’s sister-in-law. Opal applied a little force to his elbow to make him continue to the floor, where it seemed all of Rivercrest awaited them.

The layout was astounding and Albert wondered just how much money had been invested in this. It reminded him of the Winter Carnival Ball that Fuhrer Bradley hosted each year. It could all be overwhelming to the uninitiated; the sights and noise and scents making Albert pull his persona close. It wouldn’t do to forget who he was. A stumble here could alert people to his duplicity and he couldn’t have that happen.

Flashes of blue caught his eye. Albert’s mouth thinned at the sight of the Amestris military dress uniforms. He picked out the high-ranking officers milling with pretty women, wondering if alliances were already in place or building. The thought crossed his mind of telling those officers that one of their own was imprisoned in that damned house but Albert knew he’d never speak up. It was his fault Ed was in the lion’s jaws; it was up to him to drag the boy back out again. Besides, Albert knew all too well the common soldier’s regard for a State Alchemist.

“You’re tense,” Opal said through a camouflaging smile.

“Thinking of the past, cousin. Don’t worry.” Albert patted her fingers lightly. “The moment has passed.”

Opal’s fan snapped on his forearm. “This is not the time nor the place for woolgathering, cousin.”

“I know it.” Albert studied the crowds in front of them thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should take my leave of you.”

Cocking an eyebrow at him, Opal reminded, “Be careful, cousin.”

Albert smirked in reply. “What fun is there in that?” Disengaging from Opal, he made his way first to the buffet table. A waiter genuflected, offering a display of foodstuffs orchestrated to tempt the most jaded palate. Albert chose a few of the treats and walked away with his plate to get something to drink.

The gathering around the bar wasn’t entirely unexpected. Albert joined the crowd, standing on the fringes. The conversations flowed around him and he listened in unabashedly, one of the comments catching his ear.

“…safer in the city now.”

“What do you mean?” Albert noticed the older woman asking the question, her silver hair piled in an elaborate confection atop her head.

“No girls have been taken in the past four weeks.” The original speaker was a young man with a completely nondescript face and hairstyle. Were Albert in his old profession, he would’ve asked the young man if he had any leanings towards being a spy for the military. He watched surreptitiously as the young man continued. “Frankly, Anye, the constables are baffled.”

“I’d say overjoyed, myself,” the woman said, making her way to the bartender. “Champagne, please.”

The man stepped up beside Anye, placing his own order for the same. “I’m overjoyed,” he said forcefully, “it keeps me from being quite so worried about Vashti.”

“How is your little sister?” Anye smiled charmingly at the younger man.

He grinned back. “Growing.” Turning from the bar, he led Anye around Albert with a polite, “Excuse us.”

With a tight smile, Albert ordered whiskey, accepted the glass and trailed across the room. That Johns’ death left a mystery behind was no surprise. Killing that man was like lancing a boil. The city of Rivercrest was better without him. Spotting Opal talking to a small group of people, Albert decided against going to her, content with his reflections and observations of the crowds. A few more blue uniforms had appeared, something to take note of. Albert wondered absently who might be on border patrol this evening, if so many soldiers were at this party. He saw the young man and Anye again, both of them with a lovely woman who seemed to be trying to charm every man in the building. An expanse of black and green snagged his eye and Albert wended his way closer to the short, round woman seated at a table. People buzzed around her as if she were a queen sitting in court.

Mentally grimacing, Albert took a sip of his whiskey, letting the liquid burn down his throat. Lizabet’s dark, flat gaze passed over him without acknowledgement, letting him know he wasn’t recognizable in his current disguise. A tall girl, thin but pretty, stood at Lizabet’s shoulder. She reminded Albert of a card sharp, looking to rake in all the night’s winnings. He made sure to have his face turned away when she focused her attention on him.

Someone brushed past him, a hand burning against his shoulder. “Pardon me,” a deep voice said with only the barest amount of courtesy. Albert’s brows knitted at the rudeness but he blinked that away at the sight of the blue uniform. The rankings on the man’s shoulder showed he was a brigadier general and Albert was certainly not going to get into a pissing match with someone of that rank.

As if marching in a parade, the brigadier general continued across the floor, his pace smooth and steady and Albert clutched his glass convulsively. He turned away, hoping his shock didn’t show; that no one noticed his automatic reaching for a knife blade that wasn’t in its usual hiding place in the small of his back. Forcing himself to calm, Albert watched as people gave way to the brigadier general, leaving him almost a clear path. Albert was somehow not surprised to see him making his way to Lizabet’s table. The heavyset woman inclined her head as he approached, the girl at her shoulder smiling more openly. A chill ran along Albert’s spine as he ventured away from the scene in front of him. Unobtrusively, he started his search for Opal, hoping he didn’t look quite as sick as he felt. Then again, it would be an excellent excuse to leave the party and if his hunch was correct, they needed to leave now.

He found Opal talking to the young man and his friend Anye, laughing together over some mishap that had happened in the young man’s earlier days. With a pained smile, he joined the group, apologizing for his intrusion. “Cousin, I’m afraid I need to speak with you,” Albert said, nodding politely at the pair. “If you’ll excuse us?” Without waiting for a reply, he guided Opal away from her friends.

“Cousin, what’s wrong? You look terrible.” Opal searched his face openly, her own delicate brows knit together.

“I feel quite ill,” Albert told her seriously. “But before we leave, I need you to look over to where Lizabet is. That man in blue.”

“Brigadier General Sherman?” Opal’s eyes widened at his wince. “What is it?”

“God damn it. Is he one of Lizabet’s patrons?” Albert maneuvered himself around Opal, keeping an eye on that blue uniform, close to that expanse of green and black.

She nodded, frowning distastefully. “He’s completely unconcerned with the subtleties of such things, cousin,” Opal said, her voice low. “He even visits her house in his military uniform.” She caught his forearm. “Tell me, cousin.”

The sickness that Albert felt earlier threatened to overwhelm him. “Well, at least we know where they are, then. We’ve got to go.” He slipped an arm around Opal’s waist. “We’ll say I’m sick.” His laugh sounded edgy enough. “It’s pretty close to the truth anyway.”

“Go?”

Albert trained his eyes on her sharply and she quieted, allowing him to guide her quickly back to the mayor, making their excuses on leaving the party. “Sorry, old man, it can’t be helped,” Albert said, knowing that he looked ill enough that no one would want his company. “I appreciate the invitation.”

The mayor’s wife was disappointed but resigned, making Opal promise to bring her cousin back another time and they were soon making their way out of the large building and towards the awaiting cars. “What is it?” Opal asked again when people no longer surrounded them.

“I’ve had a run in with that bastard Sherman before,” Albert growled. “He likes boys, likes to hurt them, likes to see them squirm.”

“He hurt someone you know,” Opal said in realization.

Albert remained quiet while their car was brought around but once inside of it, he slammed his fist into the seat.

“Cousin!” Opal said, hoping that no one of importance had seen the action.

“It happened in Ishbal.” Albert looked at her, his eyes gleaming like twin suns. “Sherman did something really stupid that nearly got him and his men killed. My best friend managed to save Sherman’s life, the lives of that whole squad. He got a medal out of it. Sherman, on the other hand, couldn’t stand that a freak alchemist did something that he couldn’t, so he and another man caught my friend and raped him. When I found him the next morning, Roy was naked, staked out in his tent with a symbol branded into his back.” Albert’s hand reached over his shoulder, as if he could feel that scar himself. “A family crest off of Sherman’s ring,” he spat out. “Roy couldn’t press charges because Sherman let slip that he had information that would not only destroy Roy’s career but mine and someone else’s as well.” His hands clenched into fists. “Sherman never forgave Roy for saving him. Ed is one of Roy’s subordinates.” The glare of his eyes burned like an inferno. “Sherman would never let that kind of chance pass him by.” Albert leaned over the back of the seat, addressing Cashern directly. “Step on it. We don’t have much time.”

Cashern glanced in the rear view mirror, dark eyes curious. “Time for what?”

“We’re getting Ed out of there tonight,” Albert said grimly, “before Sherman has a chance at him.”

* * *


	19. Chapter 19

* * *

The birds started screeching paeans to the dawn long before Ling could see the faintest glow of the sun. He wished birds obeyed princes but such animals took a dim view of their human counterparts. Even so, the night had not been particularly restful to any of them. The damp ground caused Paninya to twitch and roll and Ran Fan had suffered as well. His pride in her silence was tempered by his anguish at seeing her in such straits and Ling cursed himself again for not having made sure of their targets before starting that fight. Hawkeye seemed the only one able to rest, using her curly-tailed dog as a pillow while Alphonse and Winry pretended to sleep, or at least Alphonse did. Winry had given up on the pretense after a few hours and sat up to feed the fire; her dog curled at her side.

Rising abruptly, Winry tossed the rest of the firewood onto the flames. The fire nearly went out from the sudden addition of fuel then brightened, the blaze rising higher than it had any time previously. The ruddy light accented the blond girl’s face, pooling in her eyes. Ling watched as she took a couple of jerky steps, hesitated then continued away from the group. She managed to avoid stepping on Alphonse’s head and wound her way into the trees. Ling slowly stood, wondering if necessity drove her from her friends or ghosts did. With a whine, her dog followed Winry, head and tail lowered.

Ling trailed behind the dog, waiting until he was nearly on top of the girl before speaking. “Miss Winry?”

She ignored him, making her way to the tree line. Ling grabbed for her as she nearly stepped into the open but Winry dodged sideways, blocking his hand with her own. Ling backed away, showing her his opened, raised palms and Winry leaned against the trunk of a tree, catching the dog’s collar as it started past her.

“That was home,” Winry said, her face turned towards the pile of rubble that still smoldered in the early dawn. “I can’t remember not living there. I suppose it isn’t much.” Her free hand grasped at the bark, flaking it from the tree. “Al lost his brother and Miss Hawkeye gave up her career. What I’ve lost.” Her voice trickled off in a plume that disappeared in the night air. “My parents were killed when I was young. I can just remember them going to Ishbal, Dad patting me on the head and telling me to be good, Mom giving me a goodbye hug. But I still had Granny. Al’s father disappeared even before that and then his mother got sick and died. Then he and Ed,” Winry shook her head, emotion strangling her words, “and now Ed’s gone, too.” She swallowed, her fingers digging deeper into the bark.

Gingerly, Ling laid a hand between her shoulders. “You lost your friend,” he said, “someone you love.”

Winry said huskily, “We were close as children. And then he was gone for such a long time. I thought, when he and Al came back, how much they’d grown.” She looked over her shoulder, the moon making silver paths on her wet cheeks. Scrubbing the back of her hand over her face, she left dirty smudges across her skin. “I don’t know if I loved him, Ling. I thought, maybe, I could. But I always believed there’d be time for that, a chance for us to find it out together.”

Beneath his hand, her body shuddered. Ling moved closer, daring to put his arm around her shoulders. His free hand pointed towards the skies. “Look up, Miss Winry. See the stars?” When she tilted her head back, Ling spread his hand, waving his fingers. “My people believe that when our loved ones die before us, they look down on us from the skies.” He squeezed Winry’s shoulder for emphasis. “The stars are their windows, so they can see us, watch what we do with the rest of our lives. They’re just waiting for us to catch up to them, is all, in a land of harmony.”

Winry forced a smile through her tears. “If that’s true, then Ed must be bored to death.”

* * *  
Without the usual noises Edward had become accustomed to, the house seemed frighteningly still, like a monster holding its breath in preparation for attack. A piano still tinkled out music but not the familiar cheerful strains; tonight, something somber played. He could hear people walking around in the hallways and on the floors overhead; could sometimes catch glimpses of the guards in the reflection of the mirror but the peculiarity of it sent shivers down his spine.

He wondered why Margot had done so much work on him. She’d taken her time, telling him she was making him beautiful. She’d made up his face, the unfamiliar brushes against his eyelids and cheeks and lashes teasing unmercifully. Margot had laughed and told him he would’ve been a gorgeous woman, tweaking his earlobe and saying something about piercing it.

His hips pumped the air restlessly at the remembrance of Margot’s touches. Sometime during the evening, Ed knew he’d be granted relief from the spiked ring, from the pressure built up like a geyser. He could only hope that the release came from a gentler hand than Sherman’s or Stefan’s.

Shuddering, Ed groaned, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. He didn’t want either of them touching him again and knew that he had no choice in the matter. Sherman’s brand rode high on his left shoulder blade, marking Ed forever as the brigadier general’s property. Even Lizabet offered no say in Edward’s keeping, just had Margot make sure he was clean and presentable for each night’s entertainment.

Ed rubbed his temple against his raised arm, feeling the sweat and oil slicking into his bangs. He left a streak of makeup on his skin and knew he’d be punished for ruining Margot’s work. His gaze came to rest on the mirror again but he turned away, his terror doubled by the expression reflected back at him. Dread coiled in his stomach, making him feel weak. Margot’s enthusiasm earlier seemed to bode nothing good in his future. Ed couldn’t help but wonder what might be in store for him tonight.

The sound of the piano ceased, making Ed jerk in surprise. As long as he’d been here, the piano never stopped playing. Overhead, something pounded and Ed heard a series of screams. Whipping around, he banged into one of the cage bars, making his head ring. Stars faded from his vision when he blinked and he bit down hard on the metal bar in his mouth. Footsteps boomed and gunfire roared. Someone shouted and Ed shivered, his breath coming in gasps. Twisting on the cuff around his wrist, he strained to look at the mirror, ignoring his own captured image, focusing on the faint glimpse of the hallway through the reflection of the doorway.

Shouts grew louder as someone approached. In the mirror, Edward caught a glimpse of Xandor running past, his face in a rictus of horror. Smoke seemed to chase behind him, roiling past the doorway, curls of it seeping into the room.

The fear that writhed in the pit of his stomach made Ed wonder if it would be better to die by fire. Wondering if Al waited for him with their Mom and Winry’s parents and Hughes, he blinked rapidly, shaking his head, trying to forestall the tears. Death would be preferable to this existence. Remembering the brand on his shoulder, Ed wondered how much more burning would hurt. He gritted his teeth on the bit, hoping that it would be fast.

A high-pitched voice startled him out of his thoughts and Ed caught sight of Stefan in the mirror, his eyes staring back down the hallway. “Who the hell are you?” he shouted.

A low, dangerous laugh answered him. “The rescue party. Where’s the Amestrian State Alchemist?” A croak escaped past the bit and Ed slammed himself against the cage bars. He watched as a man, dressed all in black and wearing a hood that masked everything but his eyes, approached Stefan. The man aimed a pistol at Stefan, the barrel not wavering. “C’mon, I really don’t want to have to tear this place apart, starting with you.” The gun dipped and the man fired. Stefan screamed, grasping at his thigh as blood started pumping from the bullet wound. “That’s not saying I won’t do it.”

Wailing, Stefan dropped to the floor, rocking back and forth. The black-clad man took a step closer, squatting, placing the barrel of the gun against Stefan’s forehead. The cries shut off immediately. “Now. Let me ask you again. Where’s the State Alchemist?”

Ed battered his body against the bars, his cries muffled by the bit between his teeth. Smoke hazed across the doorway for a few seconds and another man appeared; this one shorter but dressed in the same manner. “We really need to be moving,” he said in a clipped, accented voice.

“Not ‘til we get Ed. And this gentleman is going to tell us where he is, aren’t you?” He cocked the gun slowly and deliberately and Ed’s eyes widened, seeing a stain appear at Stefan’s crotch. Shakily, Stefan raised a hand, stabbing a finger in Ed’s direction. “That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Grabbing Stefan, the two men hauled him into the room and the taller man strode to Ed’s cage.

“Oh, god, Ed,” he said, peering at him from a pair of pale eyes. Ed made a muffled cry, his body slumping against the bars. Without turning around, the man snapped his fingers. “Where’s the key to this cage?”

Stefan whined and the shorter man kicked him. “Someone asked you a question,” he said, almost pleasantly. “You’d do well to answer it.”

“I don’t know!”

“So we do this the hard way.” Reaching into a pocket, the man pulled out a small kit. He opened the kit, producing fine tools and inserted them into the lock. Ed swung around to watch as the tools probed the keyhole, the man muttering to himself as he worked. There was a faint ‘click’ and he tugged on the lock, pulling the door open. “Now, that cuff.” Moving to the other side of the cage, he was forced to choose another pick.

The shorter man kept an eye out in the hall, a pistol pointed at Stefan. “Speed is of the essence,” he reminded.

“Patience is a virtue.” He twisted the picks in the lock, his gaze flicking from it to Ed and back again. “Don’t worry, Ed. We’re gonna get you out of here.” He eyed Ed a little more closely. “What have they done to you?”

“He’s a prize,” Stefan snarled impotently. “Miss Lizabet will hunt you down and kill you for taking him.”

“Is that so?” Giving the tools one more twist, the man let out a sigh of relief as the lock sprang open. “C’mon, Ed, let’s get you out of there.”

Ed’s arm fell from lack of feeling; pins and needles running the length of it. He trembled violently as he slid down the bars of the cage. The man in front of him moved to the doorway, beckoning. Edward shook his head, sticky bangs falling in his eyes. Rising like a snake out of his gut, the fear constricted his throat. Margot wanted him to stay in the cage. He didn’t know what she’d do if he left it.

“Bring him and let’s go,” the smaller man said impatiently.

Stefan laughed around his pain. “That boy’s been trained by the best. He’ll stay right where he is, won’t you, pretty one?”

Shuddering as if kissed by a lash, Ed huddled against the bars. He could smell the stink of his own fear and his skin was slick with a combination of oil and sweat.

“Ed,” the tall man said urgently, “we need to get you out of here.”

Shaking his head violently, Ed grabbed for the cage bars, looping his arm through them. His teeth chattered against the bit and he bit down hard. A roar jerked his attention away from the man in front of him and he stared over his shoulder as another of the guards appeared in the doorway. The small man moved forward easily, seeming to rise off the floor as if caught in a gust of wind. He spun in the air, a foot snapping out suddenly and landed just as lightly as the guard fell to the ground with a thud. Swallowing hard, Ed slowly looked back over his shoulder in time to see the man raise his mask.

“Ed,” Hughes said calmly, “it’s time to go.”

He blinked, staring into those yellow eyes. Tears stung as Ed slithered across the cage floor and into Hughes’ arms. Setting Ed on the floor, Hughes unbuckled the bit, slinging it across the room and out of sight.

“Hughes?” Ed croaked out, grabbing the front of the older man’s jacket, fisting it. Horror shot up through his body as he remembered what Sloth had said. Shoving at Hughes’ chest, Ed fell backwards, landing jarringly on that horsetail. With a yelp of pain, he rolled sideways, realized just as suddenly how vulnerable he was. Ed scrabbled away, growling, “He’s dead. Don’t think you can fool me with Lieutenant Colonel Hughes’ face.”

“I’m,” Hughes’s eyes narrowed sharply. “Trust me, Ed, I’m anything but dead. Not from lack of trying, though.” He squatted on the floor, elbows propped on his knees. “C’mon, we really need to get going before the proprietress and her customers arrive.”

“Yeah, you don’t want to be here when Miss Lizabet comes,” Stefan chuckled past his pain. “She’ll rip you apart.”

A whine clawed its way out of Ed’s throat. Margot wouldn’t be happy with him. Shivering, he imagined her wrath. “I’m not going with you, Envy.”

“Envy?” Hughes raised an eyebrow. “I think I had the pleasure. Shapechanger? Homunculus?” He rocked lightly on the balls of his feet. “Envy nearly killed me, Ed. I’ve been hiding out ever since. I’m sorry I had to let you believe I was dead but it seemed the best way to protect the people I love.”

Shaking his head violently, Edward said, “I don’t believe you.”

“All right, how about this? I came to visit you almost daily after the explosion at Lab Five. I took Winry home with me, so she’d have a place to stay while she was in town. She threw a fit to make you take her with you to Rush Valley.” Hughes’ lopsided smile stretched across his face as he reached out a hand to Ed. “Would an imposter know that you and my beautiful daughter share a birthday?” He cocked his head, the grin growing and brightening his eyes. “Wanna see a picture?”

“You’re all going to be so much fodder for Miss Lizabet,” Stefan said and Ed canted his head that way. “You’ll be hurt worse, pretty one, being the cause of all this trouble.” His smile twisted, not at all like Hughes’ easy grin. “I can’t wait,” he added, licking his lips.

The other man in black clouted Stefan across the face, sending the larger man reeling. “We don’t have time for this,” he said sharply.

“He’s right, Ed,” Hughes said, drawing the boy’s attention back. “This was supposed to be an in and out operation. Every second we waste here means that Lizabet creature could be on her way home.”

“She’ll kill you,” Stefan said with gleeful bravado that changed to a shriek when the short man nudged his shoe against Stefan’s wounded leg.

Edward stared at the hand in front of him, tracking the arm up to the man’s face. Clean-shaven, no glasses, disguised – would Envy really change Hughes’ appearance that much? Lunging into Hughes’ chest, Ed sobbed, “You found me.”

“I’d never leave you behind, Ed,” Hughes said, holding him tight for a few seconds, then gently pushing him back. Not quite able to let go of the front of Hughes’ jacket, Ed wondered what he’d done wrong now. As if he was able to read Ed’s mind, Hughes said, “Look, Ed, you’re not going to be easy to move like this. You can wear my jacket, I mean, it’s pretty cold out there and I don’t want you to get a chill.”

Swallowing, Ed forced his hand to release its grip on the fabric and Hughes shucked out of the coat, draping it over Ed’s shoulders. Edward slid his arm through a sleeve, the borrowed warmth seeming to seep into his bones. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d worn clothing and the overly large jacket almost seemed like armor wrapped around him. Armor. “Lieutenant Colonel, where’s Al?”

Hughes lowered his eyes. “I don’t know, Ed. All I know was you were delivered here. I haven’t had a chance to get in touch with my contacts back in Central. I’m sorry.”

Feeling suddenly cold, Ed tugged at the coat fretfully. “He isn’t, I mean, he can’t be,” his voice caught on the word that loomed in his mind.

“Ed. Edward, don’t think like that,” Hughes broke into his thoughts sharply. “Come on. I need your help here if we’re going to get you out of this place.”

“You won’t be able to take him,” Stefan said, his voice reminiscent of a snake’s hiss. “He’s ours now.”

Without turning around, Hughes said, “Shut him up, will you?”

“Gladly.” The small man did something and Stefan’s pained cry was cut short. Ed jerked at the sound, wondering in a disconnected sort of way who Hughes’ friend was.

“Ed, this could be painful. I don’t want to hurt you,” Hughes said, squeezing Ed’s shoulder. “So I want you to relax, all right?”

“What are you going to do?” Ed asked, peering up at Hughes through his oil-clotted bangs.

“Get that horsetail out of you first, then get rid of that ring.”

“Margot.” Ed scooted backwards, the tail catching in the jacket and making him wince. “She’ll hurt me.”

“She won’t be able to if we can get you out of here,” Hughes said gently. “She won’t have a chance.”

Swinging his head between the two men, Ed thought that over. The small man seemed to vibrate with impatience but Hughes just sat on the floor in front of him, radiating calm. Nodding abruptly, Edward focused on Hughes. The tone of his voice almost surprised him, not sounding worried or frightened in what seemed like a long time. “Do it and let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *


	20. Chapter 20

* * *  
Rose woke abruptly, blinking away the dream she’d been caught in. The images danced in her head, her darling; a swirl of feathers and Lyra’s eyes, staring at her dispassionately. Without knowing why, Rose shivered, sitting up to rub her hands along her arms, creating friction heat. Next to her, her baby slept still, pudgy fist shoved into his mouth. Rose smiled at him tenderly, smoothing his hair with a soft touch.

The building around them was grand but deserted, something Rose couldn’t quite understand. Its roof reached towards the sky, stabbing ever upward in pinnacles to challenge the clouds. Stained glass strung along the walls like so many broken jewels on a faded countess. Inside, birds nested, their soft coos providing a calming sound. Rose was sure that other creatures prowled this odd sanctuary Lyra had led her to; she could hear rustling that evidenced mice. At least the benches were still in good shape, a place she and her baby could sleep up off the hard floor.

Rose leaned her hands on the smooth wood that made up the back of the bench in front of her. It was cool to the touch, the faint grain rising slightly out of the one-time polished surface. She couldn’t see Lyra anywhere. Rising, Rose stepped into the aisle, the soft patter of her feet seeming very loud in the quiet. Faint sunlight filtered through the stained glass, splashing colors along the walls and Rose raised her arms in front of her, delighted at the brief dyeing of her skin.

The noise came again and Rose frowned, realizing the echo of it had interrupted her sleep. Recognizing the sound of voices rising and falling in argument, Rose checked on her baby again. He slept still and, making a decision, Rose made her way quietly down the aisle between the benches towards the verbal battle. Fingers pressed to her lips, she trailed down a set of stone stairs. The musty odor was strong here and old, dry leaves huddled against the walls. The voices grew louder and clearer as she drew near, until Rose could see a bright room ahead of her, light cascading from the ceiling. Shadows appeared in the room and she hesitated outside the door. Before Father Cornello, she would’ve never considered listening into someone else’s private conversation. Smiling grimly, Rose pressed herself against the wall, tilting her head so she could hear better.

A woman’s voice came first, cold and low. “At least we know where one of the boys is.” Lyra. “It isn’t like he’d easily escape that place.” A pause and a shadow passed over the opening of the door. “Especially not since Pride took his automail from him and his captors were warned about the other little tricks he has up his sleeve.” There was a faint laugh. “Perhaps his treatment might make him more biddable for us, later.”

“That would be a welcome thing.” A man’s voice, melodic and deep, completely unknown to Rose. She wondered if this was the friend that Lyra had wanted to meet. “He’s such a firebrand.” He sounded rueful as he spoke.

“And clever and resourceful. Never forget that,” Lyra snapped. “How he got that foolish girl to side with him, I’ll never know.” Her words came out in a hiss. “If that Ishbalan had been allowed to create the Stone, we’d be in a much better position than we are now, Hohenheim.”

Were they talking about Edward? Rose bit her lower lip in consternation.

“Do you think I don’t know that?” the man asked. “As it is, we’re only a little behind schedule.”

“For now,” Lyra said sharply. “At least we’ll be able to call the boy back, rather than have to hunt all over Amestris when we need him.”

What could Lyra and this man want with Edward? Rose cautiously pushed away from the wall, walking as quickly as she dared back the way she’d come. Suddenly, the derelict building didn’t seem safe and she wanted to get as far away from Lyra and her friend as possible. At this point, even the unknown seemed less frightening than remaining here.

Reaching the main room, Rose picked up her baby, soothing him as she started down the aisle, heading for the huge double doors that led out into Central’s streets. Without a backwards glance, Rose hurried down the steps outside the building and darted into the shadows, hoping that wherever they were, Edward and Alphonse were still safe.

* * *   
Maes’ mouth pulled into a grim line as he strode through the house. A part of him screamed for a purging of this institution, a rain of fire to cleanse it down to the ground. It wouldn’t make up for the babbling young man in his arms but it would go a long way to soothe his own guilt. Edward clung tight enough that Maes wasn’t sure what it would take to get the boy to let go, the same string of words falling out of his mouth in a repetitive daze, “You found me. You found me.”

Smoke curled along the corridors, remainders of the smoke bombs they’d set earlier. A few bodies were scattered around, some of them groaning, others still and lifeless. Prostitutes of either sex fluttered around, not quite sure what to do when offered freedom. Maes couldn’t afford to spare them a thought. His mission had been to rescue Edward and so far, they were accomplishing that goal.

Cashern loped alongside him, gun at the ready. Outside the house and nearby, Opal waited for them in a fast car. Maes thought it almost seemed too easy and as if the gods were waiting for him to think that, the sound of sirens burst into the air. “Damn it.”

Whatever language was Cashern’s native tongue, it led itself well to swearing. The small man broke into a run, leading the way unerringly to a door. A guard stood in front of it, muscles gleaming, reminding Maes of Major Armstrong though without the huge man’s friendly nature. “Orvi,” Maes said, showing all his teeth. “Somehow, I’m not surprised to see you.”

“Pierce?” Orvi squinted at Maes. “What are you doing?”

Mentally swearing for forgetting to pull the mask into place, Maes shifted Ed’s weight in his arms, the anchor port for Ed’s leg catching on his clothes for a second. “Sorry, Orvi, no time to talk.”

Cashern raised his pistol coolly and Orvi blanched. “Pierce, no,” he said, eyes widening. “I won’t say a word.” The gun spat fire and Ed flinched, burying his face against Maes’ chest.

“Sorry, Orvi. I kinda doubt that.” Maes followed Cashern to the door, stepping over the twitching body.

Cashern unlocked the door and kicked it open, sweeping down the steps of the alley. “This way,” he said, waving a hand.

The cool morning air slapped them in the faces as they scurried along the alley behind Miss Lizabet’s house. The sirens grew louder, urging them to hurry. Maes wished this was a typical alley, full of rubbish and trash. There wasn’t anything to cover their escape here. Cashern kept a watchful eye towards the roofs of the nearby buildings and Maes glanced behind them. It wouldn’t do to get caught now, not when they were so close to getting away.

A car drifted past the mouth of the alley and both men froze, pressing against the alley wall. “Police,” Cashern said. “Someone must’ve called them while we were looking for the boy. Opal will have moved the car.”

Maes nodded grimly, understanding why. The question was, where might Opal moved so they could find her. “Suggestions?”

Cashern let out a hiss of breath. “She won’t have gone far,” he said. He jerked his chin towards the tops of the buildings. “If we get up there, we could move a little more easily.”

Keeping the comment to himself that climbing might be difficult, carrying a paraplegic boy, Maes nodded. “Let’s go.”

The three-toned whistle caught Cashern’s attention before he started up a fire escape. A grin sparkled briefly and he jerked his head at Maes. “Opal,” he said, gesturing at a dimly lit figure that abruptly vanished. The two men followed, finding the large, black car rumbling softly in wait.

Opal waved impatiently as Cashern ran ahead. “You sure took your sweet time,” she snapped as Cashern opened the rear door for Maes. He clambered inside, movements made awkward by Edward’s tenacious grip. Cashern closed the door after and climbed into the front.

“Sorry we made you wait,” Maes said as Opal adjusted her newsboy’s cap more tightly around her mane of hair.

Her eyes glimmered at him in the rearview mirror. “I was starting to get worried.” She shifted the engine into first gear and the car surged smoothly forward, headlights remaining off.

“The boy was deeper in the house than we expected,” Cashern said. He glanced over the seatback at Ed, burrowed against Maes’ chest.

“I’m sorry, Cousin,” Opal said, her sorrow conveyed in the tone of her voice.

“Just get us out of here. We can blame each other later,” Maes said, holding Ed a little tighter. The boy’s tears soaked through the front of his shirt, making him curse himself for not rescuing Edward sooner.

Opal gunned the engine and they shot out onto the streets of Rivercrest, heading away from Miss Lizabet’s house. Early morning fog shifted through the streets closest to the river and Opal stayed near them, using the shadows and mist as cover. Her precautions weren’t enough as sirens wailed behind them.

A naughty word escaped Opal’s mouth and she spun the steering wheel. “Hold on,” she warned as headlights cut through the fog, slicing through the interior of the car. Opal sent the car skidding into an alley, trashcans banging off the front fenders. Cashern’s grim laugh echoed in Maes’ head.

Surging through the alley, the car seemed to be running through a maze of brick and fog. Maes plucked his glasses from the jacket he’d given to Ed, wondering grimly if it was better to not see what they were doing. Peering through the lenses, he spotted a large opening in front of them. As he opened his mouth to yell, Opal sent the car careening into another alley, the side of the vehicle squealing as it scraped a layer of paint off on the wall. Police cars howled behind them and Opal shot the car out onto an actual road for the space of a few heartbeats before ducking into another alley.

“What happens when we run out of alleys?” Maes shouted over the scream of the sirens.

“Hopefully, we’re safe,” Opal yelled in return. “Hold on tight.” Flooring the gas pedal, she charged the car towards a motorcycle ahead of them. The rider thought better of the game of Chicken and bailed, Opal’s car bouncing over the motorcycle. “We could be in trouble if this car gets destroyed.” Her blue eyes flashed in the mirror at Maes.

Patting Ed’s shoulder, Maes shot back, “This boy’s an alchemist. He could probably fix it up better than it was before.”

“I’ll remember you said that, Cousin,” Opal said cheerfully.

The police cars were drawing closer. Maes was sure that Opal took that next corner on two wheels and the heavy bump confirmed his belief. “This is fun!” Opal crowed.

“Maybe if I was driving,” Maes muttered as Ed freshened his grip on the front of his shirt.

The car darted out onto a main road again, its speed increasing on the straightaway. The police strung along behind them, as if being dragged in the wake of the huge automobile. Maes glanced out the rearview mirror and yelped, seeing yellow spats of flame. He flung himself over Ed protectively. Glass shattered over them and Opal swore in Cashern’s native tongue. “This isn’t fun any more,” she snarled.

Cashern said, “I agree. Mr. Draken, it is time to end the festivities.”

“End?” Maes peered at the dark man. “End, how?”

A broad, dangerous smile his answer, Cashern handed Maes a repeating rifle over the seat. “I think the police will discover it’s not profitable to chase us.”

“Edward,” Maes said, grasping the boy’s chin, “you need to get on the floorboard where it’s safer. Do you understand me?”

“Make it quick, Mr. Draken,” Cashern said lightly and Maes heard the sound of a safety catch going off.

“Ed, I can’t protect you if you’re in the way.” The boy hunched his shoulders, tightening his grip in Maes’ shirt. “Edward! Let go now!” Wide-eyed, Ed fell back and Maes guided him onto the floorboard. “Stay down there, Ed.” He tousled Ed’s hair, relieved the boy didn’t try to avoid his hand. Rising up, Maes used the muzzle of the gun to knock the rest of the glass out of the window. Flipping off the safety, he squeezed the trigger, feeling the gun kick into his shoulder with each successive shot.

Again, he wished for Roy. Fire alchemy would stop the chase in a drastic manner. As it was, the car careened from side to side, squirting into spaces that seemed far too narrow for it with the police pressing in close. Maes knew that the odds of being able to actually hit a moving target from a moving vehicle were slim to none but at least he had something to concentrate on rather than the young man at his feet.

“Grab your boy, Draken,” Cashern said abruptly, firing off a few more rounds to force the police back. “We’re going to lose the police.”

“Huh?” Maes jerked his head towards the front seat as Opal hollered, “Hold on!” She grabbed the parking brake and hit the gas at the same time. The rear of the car slid in an arc, sending Maes slipping across the seat to crash into the door. Ed fell over below him, his eyes clearing for an instant as they met Maes’. The car fishtailed to the right then the left, knocking aside a foot patrol then racing forward, the engine roaring a challenge to the approaching police.

“We’re going to die,” Maes said thoughtfully and reached down, hauling Ed into the seat with him. He slung the rifle around his shoulder. Ed stared ahead, a little frown creasing his brow. Realization struck and Ed flung himself back against the seat, a yell clawing its way from his throat at the headlights bearing down on them.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

* * *

The spicy scent of cinnamon wafted through the streets, catching the attention of the burly man padding through the streets. He paused, nose twitching and turned abruptly, backtracking the smell to a tiny bakery, redolent with breakfast breads. A plump young woman smiled up at him in delight.

“Morning, sir,” she said, dimples flashing, “can I interest you in some fresh bread?”

His own face wasn’t the kind made for smiling but Sig nodded to her politely. “I smelled cinnamon and my wife is fond of it in the morning.”

“I have sweet rolls,” the woman said, proudly displaying the sticky confections, “and cinnamon raisin bread, all fresh from the ovens. What would your wife prefer?”

They haggled cheerfully over the prices, Sig walking away with a cinnamon roll and two loaves of bread, carefully wrapped in newspapers. The scent tickled his nose, making his mouth water but he wouldn’t eat until he’d checked in on Izumi at their hotel.

Running had never been part of their plans but when the military descended on Dublith trying to find the alchemist who’d rescued a fugitive, Sig and Izumi had to go into hiding. The newspaper crackled under Sig’s clenching hands and he loosened his grip. It wouldn’t do to take out his rage on the bread.

If only that kid hadn’t shown up at Yock Island. Sig shook his head slightly in remembrance of the boy, who looked as if he could’ve been his and Izumi’s son returned to life. He didn’t like thinking about it; thinking about what the boy had become or how it had affected their lives afterwards.

She had a good heart, his wife, and she still regretted to this day that she’d lost their baby. What she did afterwards came out of grief and longing and Sig knew she didn’t forgive herself for that, either. But she didn’t let it rule her life, even if that boy had given her a glimmer of hope.

The hotel wasn’t the best in town nor was it the worst and Sig entered it, nodding at the clerk behind the counter. They’d taken a room on the first floor – better escape routes, if it came to that – and Sig made his way down the corridor to their room. If Izumi still slept, she’d wake the instant he touched the doorknob so he knocked lightly before unlocking the door and entering the room.

“Fresh bread,” he said, raising his bounty.

“Sounds wonderful, honey.” She gave him a warm smile that belied her tension. Neither of them liked this wandering life. It wasn’t that it was difficult; evading the military was something Izumi had trained for during her apprenticeship, inadvertently or not. But making their way in the cities of Amestris, where money was needed to survive, that cut closer to the bone.

“It smelled so good, it reminded me of that bakery where we bought our bread,” Sig said, setting their breakfast on the table.

“Want me to get some tea from the café?” Izumi rose from the bed, her nightclothes slightly rumpled, her expression warm and open and sweeter than it would be the rest of the day. Sig truly loved his wife in the morning, before the cares of the world intruded.

“I’ll do it. You stay here and rest.” He pushed one of her braids from her face, giving her a quick peck on the forehead.

The warmth in her eyes followed him back out the hall and to the small restaurant the hotel offered its guests. Ordering a pot of tea, Sig paid and made his way back to the room. Other guests, venturing out this early, started upon seeing him and he sighed inwardly at their reactions. It wasn’t his fault he was big and had the face he was born with, after all, but people rarely looked beyond the extremities.

Opening the door to the room, the words, “Where do you think we should go next?” fell unheeded. Izumi stood in the center of the room, the bread on the floor at her feet. Clutching the newspaper the pastries had been wrapped in, Izumi raised her eyes slowly, letting Sig see the shine of tears in her eyes.

“What is it?” He set the teapot down and moved to his wife, turning the paper enough so he could read it. Over a month old, the article still was enough to make Sig’s insides clench.

“My idiot apprentice,” Izumi said tightly, “did what he set out to do. He returned his brother to his body.”

The words stared up at Sig from the yellowing paper, words that somehow didn’t make sense. He knew about equivalent exchange, understood it completely, much to his own chagrin. But that Edward gave up his life for Alphonse…somehow, it wasn’t surprising and yet, Sig felt as if he’d taken a blow to the gut from Major Armstrong. Laying a broad hand on his wife’s shoulder, he managed to get the words out. “What do you want to do?”

Izumi pulled out from under him, taking a few steps away, her arms folded tightly. Loss held her straight and stiff and she said over her shoulder, “With Edward gone, Alphonse will need someone. He shouldn’t be left alone.”

“It says he’s going to Rezembool,” Sig said, reading quickly through the article, “to stay with family friends.”

“The Rockbells,” Izumi said quietly, musingly.

Sig didn’t bother asking, just pulled their bags out and started packing. The East was supposed to be lovely in the spring, or so he’d heard.

* * *  
The hulking man stuck to the shadows as he made his way through town. The line of his mouth cut a straight path across his face, his eyebrows drawn tight. The man he searched for seemed to have vanished, leaving no tell tale signs; no clues as to where he’d gone. Tucker shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. It didn’t help that he couldn’t actually go and ask. Despite what Colonel Archer believed, he had little recourse. Skulking was his best trait with his body the way it was. His present form brought horror to the faces of nearly everyone who saw him. And while Tucker wasn’t ashamed of what he’d done, what he’d become, he knew Archer wouldn’t appreciate rumors of a monster roaming throughout Central.

“I’m not a spy,” he said. “I’m not cut out for it.” Tucker wondered how his Nina was doing. He didn’t like leaving her alone and here he’d been gone for a long time. She’d realize it, he knew; she’d remember. His daughter. Pride swelled through him at his accomplishments. What other alchemist had brought his daughter back the way he had?

Reality crashed on him the next instant, making Tucker’s mouth sour. Archer didn’t care about Nina. His goals weren’t the same as Tucker’s. Archer wanted power; was greedy for it, hence Tucker’s attempts to locate the former Colonel Mustang.

Tucker sighed heavily. Checking carefully to make sure that the way was safe, that he wouldn’t be spotted, Tucker made his lumbering way to a pay telephone. Archer wasn’t going to be happy with the news but why postpone it any longer? Putting coins in the slot, he started dialing. The connection made, he said in his wispy voice, “Put me through to Colonel Archer. The password is ‘dragonfly.’”

* * *  
Staring in horror at the remains of the house, Roy felt his heart stutter in his chest. The white-haired man who’d driven him to the Rockbell house leaned on the hood of his car. He gestured at the tendrils of smoke still drifting towards the pre-dawn sky. “Happened yesterday morning,” he said, shaking his head. Dark brown eyes narrowing, Mr. Nedobeck went on. “State Alchemists did this.”

“Horrible,” Roy said, swallowing hard. He scanned the rubble, the land beyond it. “Were there any survivors?” His voice seemed to come from far away.

Nedobeck shrugged. “We didn’t find anything.” Removing the hat from his shaggy head, he said, “Bad enough that Edward died.” His wet eyes turning to Roy, he asked, “Why would the military want to hurt those kids? That man,” he paused to spit derisively, “sang as I drove him to the train station. What kind of man would do that,” he waved at the house, “and sing?”

Roy said quietly, “An insane one.” His heart ached with the thought that Hawkeye had been involved in this on his orders.

Mr. Nedobeck sighed heavily. “I can take you back into town, if you want.”

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to look around a little,” Roy said, folding his arms tightly, as if to hold his body together. “Just…say farewell.”

The old man’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed Roy with a touch of suspicion. “How did you say you knew the Rockbells?”

Watching the smoke drift in the morning breeze, Roy said quietly, “I had an encounter with the Doctors Rockbell in Ishbal once. They left…quite an impression on me.”

“They were shot as traitors to Amestris,” Mr. Nedobeck said, the words throbbing with fury. “They weren’t traitors, they were good people. Surgeons.”

“I know.” Roy nodded once, meeting the man’s gaze. “All too well.” He took a breath, the taste of smoke filling his mouth and lungs. “Thank you for the ride, Mr. Nedobeck. I greatly appreciate it.”

He must have decided no further harm could come of leaving Roy behind. “All right.” Climbing into his vehicle, Nedobeck slammed the door shut and started the engine.

Roy slowly walked towards what was left of the two-story house as Nedobeck drove away. Chickens scratched at the earth and wandered through the grass, searching for their daily food and Roy wondered absently if someone would come and take the birds away or whether foxes or some other wildlife would eat them. Walking around behind the house, he could make out a forest, two pastures away. “Damn it, Riza,” he murmured, the spring green of the trees blurring before him. “I can’t have lost you, too.”

* * *  
Opal grinned at the headlights racing towards her. She knew what she wanted to do, knew how her car would react when she shifted the steering wheel like this. The huge automobile slewed sideways, racing up the ramp of an auto garage, the sound of the roaring engine echoing off the brick walls. Behind her, she could hear gasps from her passengers. Cashern simply balanced himself more carefully as they slid around the corner of the ramp, the rear of the car bouncing off the wall before adjusting and traveling farther up.

“Where the hell are we going?” Draken shouted behind her.

“Just wait, Cousin,” Opal tossed merrily over her shoulder. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel and swung the car to a stop, the tires screaming over the floor. Rumbling, the vehicle shuddered and shook, then calmed and Cashern hopped out, gesturing for Draken and the boy to come with him.

“What are we doing?” Draken asked as Cashern impatiently opened the rear door of the car.

“Completing the rescue. Now, get out of the car.” Opal glanced over her shoulder and fixed the attractive man with a firm look. “I mean it.”

“What’s going on?” the boy mumbled, looking from her to the building and up at Draken.

“I’m not sure, Ed, but I trust her.” He gathered the boy in his arms, sliding out of the car.

Cashern closed the door and came to the driver’s window. “How long will you be?” he asked.

“Not long, Cashern.” Opal leaned out of the window to give him a quick kiss. “Take care of them until I catch you up.” Gunning the engine, she let out a whoop of delight.

“Be careful,” Cashern reminded her with a frown.

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Opal floored the accelerator, shifting into first gear. It would be hard to get up the speed she wanted in such a small space but she was sure the engine was good for it. Smoke poured out from the tires, leaving a haze that would confuse their pursuers, the ones she could almost hear over the sound of her own engine. Cashern vanished with Draken and the boy, leading them down the workmen’s stairs. He knew this building as well as she did, having come here so often to get repair work done on this car. And the fact that the owner ran booze on the side just meant that there were plenty of hidden escape routes.

Patting the dashboard affectionately, Opal said, “You’ve been very helpful. I’m sorry it has to end this way.”

Lights shone on the wall opposite her and she waited, her eyes trained on the rearview mirror. It wouldn’t do to make the run too soon but her timing would have to be impeccable. Before the first vehicle appeared at the mouth of the ramp, she popped the clutch, sending the car shooting forward. First gear shifted to second and the glass wall that let in light for the mechanics came into sudden focus. Opal gritted her teeth and shifted to third, grabbing the door handle and popping it open. The car roared forward as she lunged out of it, rolling across the greasy floor and into the shadows. There was a horrible crash and the reverberating sound of an engine hanging in air.

The second crash was worse than the first, making the building shake. Opal didn’t wait to hear the reactions outside the building, sprinting for the stairs. She caught the door and darted through, closing it tightly behind her. Running down the steps, she stopped at the small landing, rubbish stacked along its perimeter. Pressing her foot against an oilcan, she triggered the switch and a secret door opened. Shimmying through, she wondered how well Draken had been able to carry his boy through the narrow vent. Moving quickly, she dropped the last few feet down a ladder into a stream of cold water. More waste; these shoes wouldn’t be good for anything after this. Rescues were expensive ventures, Opal thought as she slogged through the sewer, heading for the mouth that opened on the river.

A small boat bobbed there, big enough for the four of them but only just. Opal slithered out of the grate that closed off the sewer from the river and dropped into the boat lightly. The boy huddled in Draken’s jacket, only his eyes and hair visible. Draken and Cashern started rowing before she was settled next to the boy, stroking them quickly downstream and away from the police and the burning vehicle above.

“You don’t think they recognized that car, do you?” Draken asked as they swept through the fog.

“Fortunately, that wasn’t my car.” Opal turned her attention on the boy next to her, ignoring Draken’s short, surprised laugh. “I’m Opal Armstrong, young man. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Those exhausted eyes turned towards her and she was suddenly struck by how glad she was that she couldn’t see him very clearly. She didn’t want to read everything in that gaze. “E-edward,” he said, so soft she barely caught his name. “Edward Elric.”

“Well, Edward, I’m pleased to meet you.” Opal caught at his shoulder to steady him as they bobbled over the waves cast by the wake of a larger boat. Edward flinched hard, nearly winding up in the water himself. Draken reached out with a long arm, grabbing the boy and dumping him into the hull.

“Stay down, Ed,” he said gently. “This boat’s so small, you could tip us over.” The boy’s head jerked in agreement as he cowered lower and Draken started rowing again, his face carved with anguish.

Opal turned her sight away, looking out over the mist rising up off the river, stained bloody by the coming dawn. Draken was right, she thought. They should’ve rescued the boy earlier.

* * *   
Lizabet stood in the fog, sweeping her eyes over her house. The lingering odor of smoke still filtered out in the dampness of the morning. Xandor crouched on the front steps, his face curiously blank as police patrolled the grounds, entering the house with their muddy shoes and investigations.

Margot scampered out of the house, dropping lightly off the porch and giving a haughty look to Xandor as she passed him. Reaching Lizabet, she began her recital. “Four of the guards are dead,” she said, ticking off her forefinger, “and I can’t yet tell how many of your staff are missing, Miss Lizabet.” Her gold-green eyes flicked beyond Lizabet to the man looming behind her, dressed in Amestris blue. “But the boy, Edward, he’s one of the missing.”

“What?” Sherman asked, somehow managing to contain his irritation within that single syllable. He didn’t even raise his voice, something that made Lizabet wince inwardly. How did this man rise to such high rankings in his country’s military if he spoke so softly?

Shrugging eloquently, Margot said, “I left him in a cage, handcuffed to the bars.” Her elegant gesture towards the house spoke of her training and Lizabet absently was proud of the girl. “Rober and Stefan were in the room, both dead, and Edward’s gone.” She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, nibbling on it. “The police said that they followed a car to the river but it crashed out of the second story garage.” Her mouth turned down. “There weren’t any bodies.”

Sherman seemed ghost-like in the fog as he stepped forward, his pale skin and even paler hair almost vanishing in the mist. “Someone knew of him and helped him escape.”

“The only people who knew about him were the guards and us,” Lizabet said sharply, not liking the path that Sherman’s thoughts were taking. “Xandor is there, four guards are dead and the others aren’t on duty yet but should be shortly.”

“Then we’ll question them all,” Sherman said, his grey eyes cold as ice. “And find out how my little terrier has run away.”

* * *


	22. Chapter 22

* * *

Paninya sighed in relief. Finally, they’d reached the train station. The walk seemed to have taken days rather than hours, maybe because they were so hungry. Alphonse had somehow managed to catch a rabbit but dividing it between six people and two dogs was beyond even alchemy. Winry hadn’t eaten, saying that Ran Fan needed to keep up her strength and Al had wound up giving his portion to the dogs when he thought no one was looking. The lieutenant had tightened her mouth but said nothing to either of them despite her obvious disapproval. But Paninya understood their lack of hunger. After her parents had died, after she’d lost her legs and arm, she’d lost her appetite, too. It was only after Dominic had taken her in and made her automail that she’d realized starving herself wasn’t the answer. At least Al and Winry still had each other, though she didn’t feel right in pointing that out to them.

Roses and daisies bloomed around the cream-colored train station, the red and white flowers waving slightly in the morning breeze. The morning sun seemed liquid; lapping up against the building. Paninya soaked in the beauty of it, wondering if her companions could appreciate it at all in their moods. The sun warmed her shoulders and she stretched mightily, trying to work out the kinks that still plagued her from sleeping on the cold, damp ground.

“I’ll buy our tickets,” Lieutenant Hawkeye was saying to Al and Winry. Al nodded tiredly as Winry slumped onto one of the benches in front of the station, her toolbox clattering on the wooden floor at her feet. Ling held the leashes of the two dogs as Ran Fan settled onto another bench. It had been dusk when they’d arrived here, only the day before yesterday. It seemed almost like another lifetime ago, Paninya thought. She patted Al’s back as she walked by him to sit next to Winry.

“I’m sorry,” wasn’t enough, she knew; not enough to say but the words were all she had to offer.

Winry turned her head slowly, as if she were a thousand years old. “It was only a house.”

“But it was your house.” Paninya settled her arm around the other girl’s shoulders. “Your home.” Somehow, it didn’t seem right to mention Ed, not now.

Al squatted in front of Winry, taking her hands in his. His thumbs rubbed over her knuckles, scarred and nicked from working with metal. “We’ll be okay, Winry,” he said.

She dredged a smile up from somewhere, disengaging one of her hands to ruffle his hair. “We’re tough,” Winry said.

“And you’ve got friends,” Paninya said, laying her hand on top of Al’s, squeezing Winry’s shoulder. “I know it’s terrible now but,” she let out a soft gust of air, “the pain does fade and the memories left are the good ones. Someday, you’ll wake up and everything will be brighter than you can remember it being. And you’ll welcome the sun on your face. It’s hard but that day will come.”

“Thanks, Paninya.” Winry leaned her head against Paninya’s shoulder.

“You may have to tell us that again,” Al said. He pillowed his cheek against their hands, all joined together.

Paninya smiled, extracting her hand to stroke Al’s bangs off his face. “I’ll be happy to.”

Hawkeye came out of the station, sitting on the bench next to Ran Fan. Paninya thought she saw mirrored exhaustion in both of the women’s eyes. “Our train leaves in thirty minutes,” she said. “We have enough time to run to the bakery, the stationmaster said, if we’d like something to eat.”

“We should eat something,” Al murmured.

“Ran Fan needs to keep up her strength,” Ling said. His cheerful expression took in the trio on the bench. “As do Miss Winry and Alphonse.”

Paninya hated taking her fingers out of Al’s hair; it was so soft but, “I’ll go and Ling can help me,” she said. Ling raised his eyebrows at her and Paninya expected him to say something about such duties being below his status as a prince.

His familiar smile fading somewhat, Ling said, “I would be happy to assist but it would leave Ran Fan and the others unguarded.”

“Unguarded?” Hawkeye’s gun appeared in her hand as if it had always been there. “I think we’ll be fine.”

Ling studied the weapon and nodded, that grin firming up again. “I leave their protection in your hands,” he said, bowing to Hawkeye and spinning on his heel, leaving Paninya to jump off the station platform to catch him up.

* * *  
The wind moaned and wailed as it searched through the ruined streets. Dust rolled in front of it; ripped rags rattled and shook. If one believed, the town of Lior was populated with ghosts.

The scarred man didn’t believe, not in spirits. He wasn’t sure if his beliefs could be considered such any more. Ishval would not approve of his actions any more than most of his people did but he continued on his self-imposed mission. This was his last mistake, though. Trusting to others, that they might let him accomplish his goals.

The scarred man stood on the edge of a transmutation circle, his feet at the edge of a piece of fused glass with a pair of handprints in it. The scent of death swung on the air, faint but still discernable, as were the smears of blood on a wall behind him.

Taking one long, last look, he turned on his heel. He’d been in this city, what remained of it, far too long. It was time to start his hunt again.

* * *   
They left the little boat tied up at a dock that barely deserved the title. Maes thought the dinghy fit in with its surroundings; tiny; barely seaworthy. Still, he gave the bow a familiar pat; at least it had taken them this far.

Opal climbed up the slick, mosscovered ladder as nimbly as a thief and Maes wondered again that Major Armstrong had sent him to this woman. If he’d had her talent in Investigations, he might not be hiding out in Creata. Then again, Maes glanced into the bottom of the boat where Ed huddled, maybe he was supposed to be here.

“Mr. Draken, you’re next,” Cashern said, steadying the boat.

“Ed? We need to go.” Maes cupped the boy’s chin, bringing his head up gently. Ed frowned at him, still somewhat dazed. Maes recognized shock when he saw it, being all too familiar with it from Ishbal. “Do you think you can hold onto me?”

His vision cleared and he nodded though misery splashed across his features. “Lieutenant Colonel?”

Maes leaned close in preparation to gathering the boy. “Yeah, Ed?”

“I,” he swallowed audibly, his voice lowering to a bare whisper, “I need to pee.”

Squeezing Ed’s shoulder, Maes nodded. “Do you need me to steady you?”

“Yeah,” Ed said, a flush staining his cheeks.

“It’s no big deal, Ed.” Maes pulled him out of the bottom of the boat. The jacket nearly swallowed Ed, reminding Maes of a boy playing in his father’s clothes. One arm around Ed to keep him upright, Maes unbuttoned the lower part of the jacket and waited patiently as Ed fumbled his hand free of the long sleeve.

A sigh escaped Ed as he relieved himself, the sharp tang of urine almost immediately swallowed up by the usual miasma that surrounded water. Finished, he buttoned the jacket one handed, far more nimbly than Maes expected.

Opal knelt at the edge of the dock, one hand resting on the ladder. “We are on something of a time schedule here,” she said in gentle reminder.

“We’re coming along.” Maes turned his attention to Edward. “You’ll have to hold onto me this time, Ed, because I’ll need to climb.”

A faint crease on his brow, Ed seemed to take in his surroundings for the first time. “Lieutenant Colonel, where’s Al?”

The plaintive question cut through him. “We’ll get you back to him, Ed,” Maes said gruffly. “I promise.”

* * *  
He walked back to the train station in a daze. Roy knew it was morning, knew the sun shone and that birds sang and that flowers bloomed all around him. People waved at him as he walked by but he politely declined offers to discuss what had happened at the Rockbell house. He could tell the citizens of Rezembool were angry; frightened that the military had taken such action. Roy didn’t have the heart to tell them what more the military could be capable of doing.

Tilting his head back, he saw a pair of birds wheeling above him in the sky. Hawks, he thought, and another sword sliced into him. How many more would he lose?

Roy passed a hand over his forehead. The sun seemed brighter in Rezembool; seemed to shine more brilliantly than it did in Central. Roy wondered again at the way the world around him ignored his misery. Alchemy proved only that minor things could be changed; manipulated, but the world kept going, regardless of what a single man felt.

He wondered what he should do now. The plan had been to meet Riza here. Now, that plan was destroyed and possibly his lover with it by Kimbley’s enthusiasm. The thought slipped in, not for the first time, what it would be to face Kimbley down. The arsonist was insane but that didn’t mean he wasn’t clever. Roy shook his head, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. Kimbley owed too much and someday, Roy intended to make sure he paid in kind.

Pausing to let a shepherd and her dogs move a flock of sheep across the road, Roy leaned against a stone wall. The warmth from the sun soaked into his shoulders and back though the wall was cool against his legs. The dogs rushed to and fro, shaggy bodies belying their balletic movements. A bold one lunged onto the backs of the sheep, racing over the fluffy beasts. That sudden recklessness brought to mind things he’d rather not think on and Roy purposefully kept his mind blank as the flock was maneuvered away.

The long, low wail of a train whistle drifted through the air. Roy caught sight of the serpentine tracks in the distance, the locomotive chugging through the countryside, heading for the Rezembool station. With a sigh, Roy increased his pace. Even if sometimes there seemed no reason for it, he needed to press forward.

The train station almost glowed in the morning light, all fresh paint and flowers. Beyond it, the tenders worked on the engine, cleaning out the coal ash and oiling the wheels. The stationmaster shouted the time of departure in a clear, carrying voice. Roy fished the ticket out of his pocket, showing it to a porter. “My bags. Were they loaded?”

The porter glanced around. “I don’t see any luggage, sir.” His smile was vaguely condescending. “I’d say it’s a safe bet that your things are on the train.”

Roy bit back an impatient reply. It probably was a safe bet in Rezembool, after all; as small as the station was, he doubted two trains ever arrived at the same time, despite the rows of tracks. Shoving the ticket back in his pocket, he climbed the steps into a passenger car, his eyes adjusting to the dimmer lighting as he shuffled along the aisle.

“Ah, Col – sir?”

The voice cut through his daze. Turning, Roy spotted a young man with dark honey-colored hair, sitting with a blond girl. The blonde opposite the kids caught his eyes and something inside him melted, nearly dropping him to his knees. Clutching the seat backs to remain upright, Roy schooled his countenance to hide his relief, making his way to the trio.

“Are you all right, sir?” Sharp eyes studied him, piercing his mask and Roy allowed himself a faint grin as he all but tumbled into the seat next to Hawkeye.

He caught her hand, squeezing it lightly before he released it. Alphonse and Winry exchanged puzzled glances as Roy leaned forward, his voice nearly muffled by the steam whistle announcing the train’s imminent departure. “I believed you all dead.”

Hawkeye’s hand touched his shoulder, warm and oh so quickly removed, a fleeting comfort but real. “Not from lack of Kimbley trying,” she said, her voice lowered, “but Alphonse’s quick thinking saved us.”

“All of us,” Winry said as Alphonse’s cheeks flushed.

“All?”

“We’ve acquired additional companions, sir,” Hawkeye said at her most urbane. “With an interesting proposition, if you’re willing to listen.”

Relief almost made him shaky but Roy pushed that feeling aside. “What sort of proposition?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at the kids.

“I think first you need to meet our friends,” Alphonse said, the pink fading from his cheeks. Gesturing across the aisle, he indicated three more people, one dressed in flamboyant clothing that sent a thrill through Roy in remembrance. “Yao Ling, Ran Fan, Paninya, this is,” Al hesitated, canting his eyes at Roy, “Mr. Mustang. Mr. Mustang, these are our friends.”

Roy nodded politely. “I’m sure we’ll have time to get to know each other,” he said, “but if you will excuse us?” Rising to his feet, he started down the aisle. “Hawkeye, with me.” He led the way out of the car, onto the platform and into the next. Two cars away from the kids, away from eyes that might see, on a platform with the wind whipping around them, Roy leaned his elbows on the railing. “I really did think you dead,” he said, raising his voice to be heard.

“Not at all.” Riza’s hand came down on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. “And if it weren’t for the fact that we have kids to protect, I’d show you how much I missed you.”

Turning at the touch, Roy let his gaze take in the subtle changes already in place; the warmth that Riza allowed in her eyes, the quirk to her mouth. Her hair, twisted into a braided rope down her back. Surging against her, Roy kissed her fiercely, backing her into the metal frame of the car. Riza wrapped her arms around him, fingers threading into his hair, pressing every bit of her body against him.

With a groan, Roy broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in warm gusts against each other’s mouth. “I don’t want to stop,” he muttered, shifting the angle of his body to allow more contact with Riza’s.

Her smile decidedly wicked, Riza ground her hips against him. “I can tell.”

“Tease,” Roy muttered, capturing her mouth again.

“Wanton,” Riza answered when the kiss ended, though the teasing was gentled by her fingers; stroking his hair, sliding onto his cheeks. Her eyes sparked suddenly as her hand hovered against his face. “Roy. You may actually need to shave.”

Making a disgusted sound deep in his throat, Roy turned his head, placing a kiss in her palm. “Part of my new image.” With a sigh, he pulled Riza close, both of them swaying slightly with the movement of the train. “Speaking of image, mind explaining why there are three more kids than when you started off?”

Riza shrugged. “If nothing else, they’re good cover.” She kissed his cheek lightly to take the sting out of her next words. “Speaking of which.”

Roy gave Riza a lingering kiss, gentle and sweet, with only a hint of desperation in it. “Yeah, I know. Time to be good.” Stepping a small space away, Roy ran an appraising gaze over Riza. She nodded, a slight dip of her chin and he allowed a faint smirk in reply. Their masks firmly in place, Roy opened the door and led her back to the waiting kids.

* * *  
“I’m coming,” Gracia called to whoever pounded on the front door. Elicia scurried behind her, her finger in her mouth. Gracia hated the fear in her daughter’s eyes. While she didn’t understand her father’s disappearance, Elicia knew that someone making that noise at the door was never a good thing. Standing on her toes, Gracia peered through the peephole to spy a dark-haired young man, his forehead beaded with sweat. Frowning, she threw back the bolt and opened the door. “Mr. Todd?”

The young man swept into her home, a babble of apologies falling from his mouth. “I didn’t know where else to go,” he said, pacing down the hall and halting at the table, his gaze seeming to rest on the photograph of Maes and Roy in their dress uniforms. He spun to face her, agitation evident in his flexing hands. “Things have been happening, Mrs. Hughes.”

She closed the door tightly, her mouth crimped. “If you can hold that thought, Mr. Todd,” she said, walking past him. Stooping down to her daughter’s level, Gracia said, “Elicia, why don’t you run upstairs and play for a little bit. I’ll come join you and then maybe we can go to the park afterwards.”

“Okay, Momma.” Elicia peered at Mr. Todd suspiciously but followed her mother’s direction, climbing the stairs carefully.

Gracia watched to make sure Elicia went all the way upstairs before turning to face Mr. Todd. “All right,” she said, her voice calm. “What sort of things are you talking about? And please remember not to raise your voice. I don’t want my daughter to be upset.”

Visibly forcing himself to calm down, Mr. Todd brushed a hand over his forehead, wiping the sweat on a pantsleg. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come here.” His shoulders slumped. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Why don’t you come into the kitchen and I’ll make us something to drink?” Gracia gestured for him to proceed her, ignoring the sounds of footsteps on the stairs. Elicia was far too much her father’s daughter and there was no real way to break her of that. With a faint shake of her head, Gracia pretended she didn’t see the small face pressed into the stair rail as she followed her guest into the kitchen.

Mr. Todd paced around the table, reminding Gracia a little of Roy. While her friend and lover had appeared collected, Mr. Todd seemed shattered. He stopped abruptly, his hands clutching the back of one of the chairs as if he might fall should he release it. “I am sorry,” he said roughly.

“It’s all right.” Gracia set the teakettle on the stove, lighting the burner. “Why don’t you sit and you can tell me what’s bothering you?”

He shook his head, his spiky bangs swaying with the movement. “I can’t.” Raising his eyes to meet hers, he let her see the anguish currently controlling him. “Mrs. Hughes, something’s happened. Something terrible.”

Her throat closed convulsively and Gracia remembered all too well the knock at her door, Major Armstrong’s appearance, and she caught onto the counter, bracing herself. “What do you mean?” she asked breathlessly.

“It’s,” Mr. Todd let out a ragged breath. “Two things have happened since I last saw you. The first,” he squeezed his eyes shut. “Mrs. Harrison, Sciezca’s mother. I was part of the team taking care of her at the hospital. When I came into work this week, I found out that she’d been transferred, not just out of my wing but somewhere else. No one wanted to talk about it and the records didn’t really say much. Finally, one of the nurses told me that something weird had happened the morning I was off.” His distant gaze told Gracia he was reliving that conversation. “She said that some men from the military came in and took Sciezca away in handcuffs.” He inhaled and let it out again slowly. “And that her mother was taken away in a military ambulance.” Suddenly back in the present, Mr. Todd’s eyes latched onto hers. “The rumor is that Sciezca is a traitor to Amestris.” He barked out a laugh of astonishment. “A traitor!”

“Oh, God.” Gracia pulled a chair out with nerveless fingers, barely managing to fall into it. Sciezca, taken away? “I didn’t even know she’d returned to Central.” She raised her head, searching Mr. Todd’s face. “Dr. Pinako sent her away with Winry and Alphonse.”

Something in his demeanor told her worse news was to come. “Mrs. Hughes,” he said, managing to gentle his tone. “My sister called from home today. She said,” he swallowed hard, “that some people came to Rezembool this week; strangers, all of them. All looking for Winry and Alphonse.” His expression pained, he went on. “Nelly said that two military men showed up and destroyed the Rockbell house.”

“Destroyed?” Gracia’s hands clenched together, memories of the two kids rising; of Roy’s words about Dr. Pinako’s death. “No.”

“The worst of it.” His larynx bobbed and he bit his lip hard. “No one knows where Alphonse and Winry are. The house…collapsed and burned.” Mr. Todd opened his hands together, a physical description of an explosion. His voice cracked and broke as he whispered the last words. “Maybe they were inside.”

Gracia bit her tongue to keep from screaming. Riza had gone after the children; Riza and Roy, both. They had to all be fine, they had to. She couldn’t lose them. “I can’t believe that,” she managed to say, surprised her voice remained level. “I won’t believe it. Al and Winry are smart. They’ve survived,” she nearly lost control but gathered it up again, holding tightly to it like the reins of a restive horse. “They’ve gone through so much already. They’re fine.” Steeling her gaze, she met Mr. Todd’s. He blinked at her and nodded abruptly. “Let me…I have friends, Mr. Todd. I can find out through channels about what has happened.”

The expression on his face was almost pathetically eager. “Will you keep me informed, Mrs. Hughes?” he asked.

“I will. But it may take time.” And time, Gracia thought, was not her friend. She wanted answers and knew she’d have to play a waiting game to get them. “You should go about your job, do the things you normally do.” Rising to her feet, she touched his forearm, feeling the tension wrapped in it. “Try to be as calm as you can.”

His head jerked into a nod. “All right.” Dark eyes full of concern, Mr. Todd said quietly, “Be careful, Mrs. Hughes.”

She didn’t realize the steely resolve that slipped over her face both hardened and brightened her eyes. “I always am.”

* * *


	23. Chapter 23

* * *

The report seemed innocuous enough, a simple outline of information coming through channels. The master sergeant passed it along to Lieutenant Douglas without further thought beyond how soon he’d be off of work and out of his scratchy wool uniform. Envy flickered through him that the Lieutenant was allowed to dress as a civilian rather than Amestris blue but he dismissed it almost as soon as it took root. The assistant to the Fuhrer wasn’t a job he aspired to, anyway.

The report remained on Lieutenant Douglas’ desk for a few hours, mixed in with other paperwork that needed more immediate attention. It wasn’t until after noon before she found it, recognizing the seal of interlocking diamonds immediately. Her face schooled to show no reaction, she set it aside to deal with a few more minor details before rising to her feet, gathering the report and some other papers together.

“Sir, I believe this is something you may want to review personally,” Douglas said, striding across the expansive room to the massive desk near the back wall. Behind it was the Amestrian banner, on a field of green, a leocampus rampant, bordered in white and below that, a display of crossed swords. Douglas knew the display was no more for looks than she was; the Fuhrer liked keeping his weapons close.

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He accepted the report, a bluff smile on his face. “A report from the West. That’s Brigadier General Sherman’s post.” Bradley slit open the sealed envelope, removing the sheaf of papers inside. Though outwardly he remained calm, Douglas could see from the way his fingers clenched on the paper that something was wrong. His eye flicked up at her, a subtle warning, as he said, “Lieutenant, I believe I have an appointment, don’t I?”

Going back to her desk, Douglas picked up her calendar and reviewing it. “Yes, sir,” she said, “at one forty-five. Which is,” she made a show of checking the clock, “in fifteen minutes.”

“Well then. You’d better requisition us a car.” Bradley was on his feet, the report carefully tucked back into its envelope. “We don’t want to be late for this one.”

The call made to the motorpool, the pair made their way quickly through the corridors of Central headquarters. Bradley’s long strides should have been difficult for Douglas to match but somehow, she remained right behind him, her face schooled to placid impassivity. They climbed into the car and Bradley announced to the driver where they were headed, settling back in his seat and crossing his leg. The report remained next to him, a plain envelope that carried some weight, some importance from Western command.

There was little doubt in Douglas’ mind that whatever was in that envelope had to do with the Fullmetal boy and if the Fuhrer wanted to leave his office this abruptly, it wasn’t good news. The thought that Bradley would have to break the word to Father gave her some amount of pleasure. It would be nice to watch Pride squirm for a change. She had done her job, placing the Fullmetal brat and after that, it was out of her hands.

“This is fine, Captain.” Bradley waved a hand at the driver, who raised her eyes to the mirror in surprise.

“Yes, sir,” she said, pulling over to the curb and hopping out of the driver’s seat to open the back door for the Fuhrer.

He climbed out, taking a deep breath and fixing a smile on his face. “Well, Lieutenant Douglas, let’s take a walk, shall we?” Nodding at the captain, he gestured with the hand not holding the envelope. “Go on back to H.Q. I’ll call when I need you.”

The woman frowned, daring to open her mouth. “But sir, your guards.”

“Oh, I’ll be fine.” The sound of Bradley’s laughter boomed out in the street. “Lieutenant Douglas, here, will protect me. Won’t you, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” she responded, her eyes downcast.

“Don’t worry, Captain. I’ll take full responsibility should anything happen.” He waved again, gesturing the car to move along down the street. The captain’s scowl deepened but obeyed, the car pulling away from the curb and disappearing around a corner. Bradley barely waited for that to happen before he strode off, Douglas falling in behind him.

“Next time, maybe we should take the back way,” she said, her voice casual and low.

“And how would that seem, us disappearing like that?” Bradley’s eye roved over the street as they turned off the main thoroughfare, heading towards a decrepit building, its spires stabbing at the sky. “That might garner more questions than we really want to answer.”

“People who ask questions have a tendency to disappear,” Douglas reminded him.

The only reply she received was a grunt and then they were mounting the steps to the cathedral. The religion represented by the building had died out long before, leaving behind only the temple where the worshippers had once gathered. Douglas thought it a monument to the folly of humans, offering their faith and trust in a being that didn’t exist. If the humans only knew where the real power lay, they would turn away from their gods and look for other answers.

The interior still showed a wealth that vandals had yet to destroy or steal. Though the stained glass windows were broken and birds and other vermin had made the sanctum their home, a quiet dignity remained behind. Douglas eyed the symbol of the religion with a slight quirk of her mouth. If such faith had been placed in their god, she had to wonder why the priests had made own boltholes, just like badgers in their dens. It was to one of those escape routes that Bradley led her, opening a doorway that led beneath the chapel and into the bowels of the earth.

A faint, cool breeze toyed with Douglas’ hair, rearranging the strands as she followed Pride deeper underground. The sound of music drifted up eventually, heralding their final ascent. Douglas shook back her façade, becoming her true self again and Sloth and Pride entered the grand room where a man and a woman awaited their approach.

The woman appeared not much more than a girl; short dark hair in a tightly controlled bob and narrowed eyes that fixed upon them as they walked through the doorway. The man was taller and as sunlit as the woman was shadowed; the smile smudging from his face as he studied her closely.

Sloth put up with the scrutiny, her eyes downcast. Father always stared at her with an expression she couldn’t quite read. Linking her fingers behind her back, she paused a few steps behind Pride, who raised the envelope, drawing all attention away from her.   
“I’m afraid I have bad news, Father,” he said, his broad voice amazingly calm.

“Bad news?” Dante’s face pinched even tighter, her hair swinging as she fixed Pride with a glare. “What sort of bad news?”

Hohenheim lifted a hand, forestalling Dante’s words. “What has happened?”

Opening the envelope, Pride removed a small sheaf of papers. “I have a report from the Western border, Father, from Brigadier General Sherman.” Wagging the papers so they rattled, he said, his tone conveying nothing of the fury Sloth could see building in his stance, “The Fullmetal boy has vanished.”

“Vanished?” Dante snapped.

Hohenheim started, quickly wiping away the beginnings of a smile. His, “How?” sounded more delighted than irritated. Hohenheim’s reaction intrigued Sloth. Did she note pride couched in it? Did the other two even notice?

“A raid,” Pride said, “on the facility where the boy was being kept. He has yet to be located.”

“Someone must have recognized him,” Dante said, tugging her lower lip between her thumb and forefinger thoughtfully. “This is a problem.”

Hohenheim shrugged lightly. “The boy will reappear.”

Her spotlight glare turned upon him, Dante said, “You say that now, Hohenheim, but you are as aware as I that the plan we set in motion requires that boy.”

With a faint, slightly mocking smile, Hohenheim laid a hand on Dante’s narrow shoulder. “Drawing Edward Elric out of hiding is the least of our worries. The pride he has in his good name, well, he won’t allow for it to be sullied. All we need to do is start spreading the appropriate rumors and the boy will be flushed out.” The grin broadened. “And if not him personally, I have no doubt that his brother’s inquisitive nature will lead him to us.”

“There is also the matter of the Flame Alchemist,” Pride said thoughtfully. “He has also disappeared.” Dante’s expression showed her lack of understanding why this might be important and Pride went on to explain. “Fullmetal’s superior. He was court martialed.”

“You let an alchemist leave the military?” Dante’s words came out in a hiss of rage.

Pride’s brows lowered. “With what happened in Lior, we needed a scapegoat.” There was a hint of distaste in his words as he said, “The populace consider Fullmetal to be something of a hero. If someone didn’t take the fall for his loss, we might have been forced into a battle before we were ready for it.”

Dante scowled. “He’s that popular?”

Hohenheim smoothed down his beard, hiding another smile, Sloth noticed. “Pride, is it possible that the Flame Alchemist rescued Edward?”

“Doubtful unless he had intelligence we were not aware of. His personal staff have been assigned to Archer, where we can keep an eye on them. Their loyalty to Flame is well-noted; almost legendary.” Pride allowed the corner of his mouth to lift. “If any of them are in contact with Flame, I’m sure that Archer will be aware of it and let me know.”

Mollified, Dante nodded abruptly. “This pushes our plans back somewhat.”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure my son,” Hohenheim corrected himself, “my sons will make their presences known soon enough.”

* * *   
The dry air seemed to suck the moisture right out of his body and Alphonse wondered why anyone would even consider living in Rush Valley. The streets seemed crowded, houses pushed against canyon walls that seemed to begrudge any amount of space rightfully theirs. The sky was an amazing shade of blue; seeming to enhance the rich ochres and reds that surrounded them but even Al was hard pressed to actually pay attention.

“I can’t believe we have to carry our own luggage,” Colonel Mustang – no, Roy – was whining. “Why did I pack so many things?”

Riza rolled her eyes. “You have a single suitcase,” she said, “and it isn’t even heavy. The porters will bring the rest of our luggage.”

“On donkeys.” Roy’s mouth turned down. “My clothes will probably stink of horseflesh afterwards.”

“Don’t make me shoot you.” The threat, though made idly, seemed to straighten Roy’s spine and he paced next to Riza exaggeratedly for a few steps. Mustang brought into line, Riza turned her attention to more important matters. “Paninya? Where did you say we were going?”

“There’s a hotel,” Paninya said, “near Mr. Dominic’s house.” She winked broadly. “Right where I can keep an eye on you.” Her appraising glance fell on Alphonse and he had to glance away, feeling a little more heat in his face. He stumbled into Winry, feeling her stiffen at the contact.

“Hey,” Al took her arm, “Winry.”

Her eyes held storms in them as she said, quietly, “Granny doesn’t know how to find us. We didn’t leave a message at Rezembool.” Alphonse glanced towards the adults, both who turned around, as if they could almost scent conflict. Hawkeye’s dog swiveled his head, looking from Riza back to Alphonse. “She’s going to think something terrible happened to us, Al.” Winry clutched his shirt in her hand so tightly, her knuckles went white.

Roy seemed to flinch but straightened his shoulders. Returning to them, he laid a hand on Winry’s shoulder. “We can discuss it at the hotel,” he said. Gesturing with his head, he slid his palm to the center of Winry’s back, guiding her along the street. “Not in the city.”

“Besides, Winry, stationmaster Coyle knows where we’re going,” Alphonse said, falling in next to his friend. “He’ll tell Granny.”

Her bangs shading her eyes, Winry nodded abruptly. Roy dropped his hand away from her, exchanging a glance with Riza. Alphonse caught the movement of their eyes but not what it was meant to convey. Behind him, he could hear Ling whistle long and low. “This is an exciting place,” he said, his voice loud enough to carry.

“Not too exciting, I hope.” Roy’s response was soft but Alphonse was close enough to catch it. It seemed like something cold spilled down his spine at the tone of the former Colonel’s voice and Alphonse allowed himself a shiver. He wished, suddenly, emphatically, that Edward was with them.

* * *  
By the time Victoria managed to get dressed, the house was already in an uproar. Peering out of her door, she saw Miss Opal and Mr. Draken in the hallway leading to the kitchen. Draken looked exhausted, rubbing his eyes with his long fingers. Miss Opal seemed little better, her face ashen even in the warm morning light spilling through the windows. Victoria bit her lip. She knew better than to listen but sometimes, adults didn’t think that kids were old enough to hear things that they really needed to know. Creeping closer, she hesitated next to the hall table, her hands resting on it lightly as Miss Opal said, “At least he’s safe now.”

“You didn’t see what they’d done to him,” Draken snapped furiously and Victoria couldn’t help but wonder if he was trying to rub the images out of his eyes. “Damn it, he’s just a kid.”

“Albert.” Miss Opal’s voice became more strident. “Maes.” That jerked Draken’s head up, his mouth dragging down into an angry line. “You have to be strong for him. You’re the only familiar thing he has right now.”

With a shuddering sigh, Draken nodded. “You’re right.” He took another deep breath and let it out again in a string of swear words, each one hotter than the last.

Miss Opal folded her arms, waiting him out, sympathy evident on her face. When Draken finally ran dry, she said, “Better?”

“No. God, no.” Draken’s teeth flashed, reminding Victoria of a mad dog’s. “That bastard owes me twice over.” He held up the appropriate amount of fingers. “This time, I’ll make sure he pays for it.”

“That’s not what that boy needs,” Opal rapped out, her hands on her hips, stepping nearly into Draken’s chest.

With a growl slipping between his teeth, Draken waved his hands in assent. “You’re right.” Yet another long breath and he shook himself. Victoria had never seen that expression sliding over Draken’s face. She pressed her fingers to her mouth at the gentleness evident in the man, the sorrow that flooded his eyes. He blinked, seeing her beyond Miss Opal and cocked an eyebrow at her, the coolness he’d always evidenced not quite in place. “Good morning, Victoria.”

Miss Opal turned abruptly, studying Victoria closely, making her feel as if she’d walked into something she wasn’t supposed to know about. Lifting her chin, Victoria said, “Good morning, Mr. Draken, Miss Opal.” She wasn’t going to be cowed by this, she wasn’t.

“You’ve been listening, haven’t you, Victoria?” Miss Opal asked, the corner of her mouth turning down, though her eyes forgave Victoria the intrusion. Her hand raising to forestall anything that Victoria might say, she went on. “No matter. I’d like you to get a bath started for our newest guest.”

“Yes’m,” Victoria said, scooting between the two adults in process of starting towards the staircase. The sight of makeup smeared across Draken’s shirt made her hesitate, her curious eyes flicking up towards his face. Draken smoothed his hair, tucking stray strands back into place, his gaze sweeping away from hers.

“Victoria, he’s in the blue room,” Opal said to her. “Be sure to knock.”

“Yes’m!” Victoria fairly ran for the stairs, wondering what was going on. Draken’s face; the way his shoulders slumped and his fury all surprised her. Cashern was already on the second floor when she arrived, his brows arching at the sight of her. “I’m supposed to pull a bath,” Victoria said, wondering at her defensiveness.

The dark-haired man nodded slightly. “I’m sure our guest will appreciate it.” His slender hand caught Victoria’s shoulder as she walked by. “He isn’t well, Victoria.”

“You mean he’s sick?” Victoria’s brow furrowed.

“No, I mean he isn’t well.” Cashern’s coffee-black eyes bored into hers. “Be cautious around him and listen to what Mr. Draken tells you.”

Disturbed by the warning, Victoria covered by saying, “I don’t trust Mr. Draken.”

Cashern smiled faintly. “Good to know.” Releasing her shoulder, he watched as she went down the hall to the bath, leaving Victoria with more questions than answers as she started running water into the tub.

The knock on the door startled her, making her splash water. “I’m sorry, dear,” Miss Opal said as Victoria scrambled to her feet. “I was just checking to see if the bath was ready.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Victoria turned off the faucets and dried her hands on her full skirt, ignoring the older woman’s exasperated sigh. “Miss Opal?”

“Yes, Victoria?”

“Who is the new guest?”

“Well,” Miss Opal fingered her chin thoughtfully, her gaze caught by something beyond Victoria’s shoulder. “I think you’ll need to ask Cousin Albert about that.” She shook herself like a dog coming out of the water and laid a hand on Victoria’s cheek. “You’ll have a chance to meet him soon enough, dear. Just,” she hesitated, “don’t press, all right?”

Making a face at the oblique admonition, Victoria nodded at Miss Opal’s urging. “I won’t,” she said reluctantly, her curiosity on the rise. Someone new in the house, a boy, and Mr. Draken didn’t seem to be the man she’d thought him. It was all very strange and interesting and she wanted to know more now. As Miss Opal took her leave, Victoria thought of something she could do. Filling a pitcher with the water from the bath, she set it into a wash basin. Victoria added a washcloth, towel and soap before starting down the hallway to the blue room.

The door was partially open and Victoria crept into the room, holding the basin and the pitcher carefully. Mr. Draken sat on a footstool, blocking her view of the chair in front of him. “It’s going to take time,” he said, his tone low and soothing.

“How much time?” The answering voice was more strident, rising to shrill. “I need to know about Al.”

Making a face at Draken’s back, Victoria schooled her features before clearing her throat politely. “Mr. Draken, sir, Miss Opal sent me with some water.”

“Thank you, Victoria.” He rose, a fluid movement, like a rope being pulled straight and stepped away from the chair.

Victoria clenched her hands around the basin at the sight of the boy. It was only later she realized he wore a jacket far too large for him; that he was missing two limbs. He reminded her of a hawk, his fierce gaze resting on Draken, his mouth pulled into a scowl. Those eyes slid round to her and Victoria almost stepped back. Something lingered in that tawny stare, something she couldn’t define. Something that made her stomach lurch and her heart beat fast. Victoria swallowed to combat the sudden dryness in her mouth.

The boy flinched violently, tugging at the jacket and drawing attention to it, his face heating up with color. “Hughes,” he said, the word sharp and angry and tight.

“Sorry,” Draken said, the wince evident in his voice. He took two long strides and was in front of Victoria, shielding the boy from her sight. “Thank you, Victoria,” he said, smoothly pulling the basin from her unresisting hands. “I appreciate your help but I need you to leave now.”

She flushed, averting her gaze, mumbling an apology as she moved towards the door. Pulling it closed behind her, Victoria leaned against it, letting out a breath. The questions raced round her mind, the glimpse of the boy making her want to know more about him.

With a soft, shaky laugh, Victoria rubbed her palms down her skirt, wondering at their clammy feeling. Surely one boy didn’t have this effect on her. Forcing herself away from the blue room, Victoria scampered down the hall to the stairs, wondering if she could coax any additional information on the boy out of Cashern.

* * *


	24. Chapter 24

* * *

Roy breathed in the dry air, thinking he’d rather be anywhere but in Rush Valley. The sun blared down, the heat almost palpable. He swiped his wrist across his forehead, trying to wipe away the memories along with the sweat. For the space of a heartbeat, the room shimmered; the sand colored walls becoming canvas, the sharp retorts of hammers on metal becoming the sound of gunfire. Children’s laughter transmuted to wails of loss and pain and horror and Roy clenched his hands into fists, blunt nails biting into his palms, forcing the images away again.

The soft squeal of the door opening, Riza’s lowly voiced, “Roy?” brought him fully into the present. He bowed his head, willing the mask back into place. Not for her sake, no, Riza knew everything, understood everything, but for the kids he’d have to face in a few minutes.

Reaching a hand back, Roy felt Riza’s palm press to his, the comfort of those familiar calluses, the amazing contours of her skin. He wondered how she remained so cool in these temperatures, in this place, all too reminiscent of Ishbal. “I’m tired, Riza.”

The admission hung between them and Riza’s hands slid up around him as she pressed her body against his back. Her arms cradled and banded his chest, her cheek leaned into his shoulder. “I know you are, Roy.” The breath of her words stroked the back of his neck. Riza didn’t say what they both knew, that he’d been weary for a long time.

Drawing strength from her comfort, Roy turned in Riza’s embrace, his arms coming around her. She cupped the back of his head, kissing his temple and Roy sighed, relaxing in her arms. Home, he thought consciously, was within the arms of this woman. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, give up and let her soldier on – a faint smile graced his mouth at the choice of words – without him. Tightening his hug, Roy leaned back, just far enough to meet Riza’s gaze, his forehead resting against hers. “Love you,” he murmured before kissing her.

Passion could wait until later, they both knew that, but after so much sorrow, the simple press of mouth to mouth ignited the fire that had remained banked since Riza left Central. Roy’s mouth turned possessive, demanding, crushing Riza’s body against his own. He ground against her hip, a low growl escaping him when she pulled back a little.

Her fingers rising to stroke his lips, his breath hit Riza’s skin in short, sharp pants. Roy couldn’t help the stirring of his flesh, wanted this to reach its natural conclusion. His hips moved against Riza’s, the groan curling around her fingers. “Need you,” he said, as if it weren’t evident.

This was something Riza could control, not like the death of a boy in a deserted city, not like the lightning tang of alchemy. She understood want and desire and how much they both needed this right now.

Roy almost laughed as Riza shoved him back onto the bed, climbing on top of him. She straddled his hips, her hands splayed on his chest, a sweet light in her eyes. “This isn’t the time or the place,” she told him, though the way she rolled her hips teased him to arch up.

Hands going to the hem of her shirt, Roy caught it in his fingers. “Bad news can always   
wait,” he said roughly as he sat up to pull the shirt over Riza’s head.

* * *  
Outside, it rained. Edward stared blankly through the window panes, the weather and damp making his joints ache. The world beyond the glass wavered through the rain spilling from the sky. Lethargy wrapped him up, as if in a blanket, holding him tight. He still wasn’t sure where he was, wasn’t sure he cared. If this was a dream, so be it. Here, at least, he wasn’t tied down and muzzled. His fingers stirred restlessly on the sheet, the crisp texture of the cotton unfamiliar after the silkiness of the bedding in that place. A shiver ran through his body and Ed bit his lower lip hard, trying to control it. If it was a dream, Hughes wouldn’t be here, he reminded himself. Ed figured he would’ve dreamed of Al, of Winry, of anyone but Hughes.

The knock on the door didn’t rouse him, barely made an impression. Someone stepped inside, a cheerful, “Good afternoon,” greeting Ed. The smell of food intruded more than the sounds and Ed blinked, slowly turning his attention away from the window.

He vaguely recognized the woman as she swayed into the room, Hughes behind her pushing a tea cart. Now dressed in some long, elaborate dress with lace dripping out of the cuffs, she looked like someone out of a fairy tale book that Winry had read when they were little. Her hair wound into coils on her head and her blue eyes sparked at him. Going past his bed to the window, she peered outside, her hand caught on one of the curtains. Hughes guided the cart to the center of the room and straightened, rubbing his hands together. “Opal thought you might be hungry, Ed.”

“Yes.” She turned from the window, lacing her hands together in front of her. “Mila’s an excellent cook, Edward. I told her to make something light for you but,” she gestured at the tray, laden with a large tureen and bowls, small sandwiches and utensils and a steaming teapot with matching cups. Opal’s mouth quirked. “I’m not sure she understands that idea completely.” Opening the tureen, she ladled soup into one of the bowls. “This,” she said, “is a recipe that has been handed down through the Armstrong family for generations.”

Ed’s fingers twitched on the blanket. Hughes had helped him bathe earlier and bundled him into the clothes he wore. He barely remembered being tucked into this bed, only that the rain woke him again.

“Are you hungry, Ed?” Hughes asked gently, breaking into his thoughts and Ed blinked, looking at him. His stomach felt hollow and grumbled loudly, making Ed flush. “I guess you are.”

Plucking at the blanket, Ed turned his face to the window, his mouth tightening. “Where am I?”

“You’re a guest in my house, Edward.” The phrase whipped him around, his hair lashing at his face. The woman realized she’d made a mistake, her hands rising in placation. “You can leave here any time you want, Edward. I will not keep you a prisoner. You can rest here and plan and when you’re able,” her blue gaze met his steadily and Ed was forced to drop his own, “and once you’re fitted with automail again, you can leave.”

The bed shifted as Hughes sat on the end of it. “It’s okay, Ed,” he said, his voice warm. “Opal’s been hiding me out, too. She’s Major Armstrong’s cousin.”

His voice cracked a little as he managed to get out, “I figured.”

Opal smiled at them both. “I’ll leave you two to talk. I just wanted to check on you, Edward.” She nodded at Hughes and swished out of the room, her dress following her through the door.

Ed swallowed, looking at his hand, staring at his knuckles. The scars that laced his skin were the most familiar thing he could focus on. He could almost point out which scar was from which fight. Envy, Greed, Scar; they’d all left their marks on him and still, he wanted to go back to that simple exchange of fists and feet and alchemy. Something inside him mocked that thought; made him wonder if there was any way he’d even be able to do it. Could he still fight? Did it even matter? “Hughes?” His voice came out broken, the same way Ed felt. “What about Al?”

From the foot of the bed, Hughes said, “I’m sorry, Ed. It’ll take me a while to get in contact with anyone. We’re in Creata. There isn’t that much call for mail to go from here to Amestris.” From the movement of the bed, Hughes must have shifted positions. “It may be as long as month, maybe two, before I hear anything.”

“Two months?” That brought Edward’s head up, his eyes locking with Hughes’. “But.” Creata? How the hel – how had he wound up here?

Hughes swallowed. “I did send a letter when I first saw you but I haven’t gotten an answer yet.” He shoved off the bed, busying himself with the teacart. “This really is good soup,” he said, “you should have some.” Turning around, he set a bed tray over Ed’s thighs, a bowl of steaming soup centered on it. Hughes added a spoon and a napkin to the tray. “The tea’s good, too.”

Ed knew Hughes was hiding something from him. His stomach clenched at the smell of the soup, rising into his nostrils. Was Al dead? Hughes would say, wouldn’t he? Blinking hard, Ed swallowed hard at the feeling, like a snake trying to climb out of his stomach. “Hughes? Is Al okay?”

Hughes’ eyes widened, eyebrows lifting. “Oh, Ed, I don’t know. I swear. I wish I did. Last I knew, you boys were going to Dublith with Winry. It wasn’t long after that they tried to kill me. I haven’t really been in touch with Amestris much since then.” His mobile face fell in dismay. “It’s hard to get news here. There aren’t telephone lines so I have to write and hope the mail gets through.” He poured some tea into a cup and set it on the tray next to the soup. “Please, Ed, you need to eat something. You need to heal so I can get you back home.”

Ed stared into the soup as if it might tell him his future. If Al wasn’t alive…he strained for the memories but they still wouldn’t come. Something about a fight; he knew that much. Hand clenching so tight that his nails, long and painted at Margot’s insistance, dug into his palm, Ed tried to dredge up anything that might let him answer his own questions. Nothing came and it seemed like something laughed inside him with Sherman’s voice. He shivered, trying to shove that sound aside. “I don’t have a home,” he growled, “if Al isn’t alive.”

Sighing, Hughes rubbed the back of his head. “I’ll find out for you as soon as I can, Ed. You,” he gestured at the tray, “eat something, okay?”

Reaching for the spoon, Ed flexed his thigh stump, trying to keep his balance. He dipped the spoon into the soup; stirred it so the broth steamed again. He tasted the soup gingerly. He knew it should’ve tasted like beef broth and onions but in his mouth, it was ashes. Forcing himself to swallow, Ed coughed, pressing the back of his hand against his mouth. His stomach churned like something swam in his gut, something that didn’t like the food; something that wanted out. Ed dropped the spoon on the tray, folding his arm over his belly, hoping he didn’t puke all over the tray.

“Ed?” Hughes stooped close, too close, and Ed swung wildly, the tray spinning off the bed. The soup spilled down Hughes’ leg, the bowl bounced off his knee. The tea soaked into the bedding, the liquid scalding Ed’s thigh and he gritted his teeth at the pain, Sherman’s voice insinuating itself in his head. _“Fool. You may have gotten away from me but you’re still mine.”_

* * *   
Kimbley studied his fingernails as Archer finished up his telephone conversation. The colonel, Kimbley noted with a smirk, didn’t seem too pleased.

“I want him found,” Archer hissed into the mouthpiece. “I don’t care what it takes.” A pause. “Yes, that is an order,” he said, his voice even more chill. “Are you questioning it?” His fingers smoothed over the desk blotter. “I thought not. Considering the Fuhrer wants Mustang in his custody,” he paused.

Eyebrows lifting, Kimbley thought about that. The Fuhrer wanted Flame? That was interesting. He moistened his mouth, remembering that night in Ishbal. Damn, that had been fun. Kimbley still remembered the feel of Flame’s body writhing under his. Forcing his attention back to the present, Kimbley waited until Archer hung up the telephone. He laced his fingers together, stretching his arms out in front of him, partly to ease the tension in his shoulders, partly to draw attention to the arrays tattooed in his palms. “So, Roy-boy slipped his collar?”

Archer leaned back in his chair, his cold blue eyes fixed on the telephone as if it were an enemy. “A mix up in orders. Mustang was to have been detained by the military police. Instead, it seems he escaped Central.”

Kimbley stretched his arms up and settled them behind his head. “Don’t suppose you want someone to track him down?”

“You?” Archer’s laugh was short and sharp and completely without mirth. “Kimbley, the Fuhrer wants Mustang alive and those he inspired loyalty in are still exceedingly loyal.” He narrowed his eyes. “I want them to remain alive and whole, so your interrogation methods, in this case, leave something to be desired.”

Making a moue, Kimbley shifted in his seat. “Well, if you want to be that way,” he said, “I’ll keep away from them.” His mouth stretched into a smile. “What about that girl? The little librarian?”

Archer rested his chin on his folded hands. “You believe she knows something?”

Smirk widening as he cracked his knuckles, Kimbley said, “It could be fun finding out.”

* * *   
If Alphonse thought that Fate had no more loss in store for them, Mustang’s words destroyed that hope. Next to him, Winry started to her feet, lurching like a drunk, her hands fisting so tight the tendons on her forearms stood out like cords. “No,” she whispered and her volume suddenly increased to a shout. “She’s not gone, too!”

Mustang’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. “I am sorry, Winry,” he said, getting no further as she whirled on him, fairly spitting the words, “Is this your fault, too? Did someone give you more orders?”

“Winry!” Al leaped up but Hawkeye was quicker, spinning Winry around.

Speaking soft and rough, Riza said, “Roy had nothing to do with it.” She gave Winry a shake. “Do you think he’d be so callous as to hurt someone you care about and then offer himself as your protector?”

The irony of it wasn’t lost on Winry, who dragged free of the other woman’s grip. “You can say that,” she whispered hotly, “but I know what he did.”

Alphonse caught Winry’s arms as Riza’s eyes widened, a brief concession to her surprise. “Winry,” she began but Roy stood, crossing the small space of the room, gesturing to both Alphonse and Riza to move aside. Neither of them did, Alphonse knowing all too well the violence Winry was capable of and Riza perhaps guessing.

Standing directly in front of Winry, Roy’s voice was soft and level as he said, “If you want to blame me for my past transgressions, feel free but I had nothing to do with your grandmother’s death.” His eyes sought out Alphonse’s as he went on. “My bet is on Kimbley.”

“Kimbley.” Alphonse sucked in a breath, his fingers clenching tight enough on Winry’s arms to leave bruises behind. “Poor Granny.” His face crumpled and he leaned his forehead against the back of Winry’s neck, whispering, “Winry, I’m sorry.”

Those words broke through her anger and she sagged in his grip. The wail tore free from her as Winry collapsed, Al’s embrace the only thing keeping her from falling to the floor. Her sobs raged through her body, slamming into Alphonse, barely contained by his arms banding her. Roy moved closer, catching Winry’s shoulders as the feel of another hand startled Al into raising his head, seeing Hawkeye’s sorrowful gaze. Had there been pity in it, Al wasn’t sure what he might’ve done but she held them both, her head bowed against his as Winry sobbed into Mustang’s chest.

* * *  
The military barracks were noisy in the evening before the men and women residing in them turned in for the night, still, Fuery wasn’t expecting someone to be banging on the door to his quarters. “What is it?” he asked, peering out into the hall.

Sergeant Brandenstein stood on the other side, his stance weary. “Telephone,” he said, jerking a thumb down the hall. His dark eyes crinkled suddenly, as if he knew the punch line to a joke. “I didn’t know you had a sister, Fuery.”

“Sister?” He shoved his glasses up his nose, peering at the taller man. “What do you mean?”

Brandenstein rolled his shoulders, eyebrow lifting mischievously. “Said her name was Elizabeth.”

“Oh.” Fuery blinked at that name, forcing a smile. “Yes, my older sister!” He nodded, easing out of the door and past the sergeant.

“Uh huh.” Brandenstein wasn’t convinced, trailing Fuery down the hall. “She sounds sexy. Hey,” he said jovially, “does your ‘sister’ have a friend for me?”

Fuery shook his head. “No, but she does have a jealous boyfriend. Not me,” he hastened to add with a quick smile, holding up one hand to halt the sergeant’s questions as he picked up the telephone receiver. “Elizabeth?”

“Kain? How are you?”

The sound of that voice was a balm to a worried soul and Fuery leaned his shoulders against the wall, a relieved grin breaking over his face. “I’m fine, Elizabeth. But how are you and the kids?” He let his eyes drift to Brandenstein, who shoved off, heading back to his own room.

“We’re doing well. Rolf is tired,” she said, “but soon we’ll be home. I’ll write you to let you know once we’ve arrived.”

Fuery nodded, even though Elizabeth couldn’t see it. “I understand,” he said, “and I’ll let Jacqueline and the rest of the family know, too.”

“Thank you, Kain.” There was the faint hint of a throaty laugh through the line before it went dead.

Staring at the receiver, Fuery replaced it in its cradle. With the first real grin he’d smiled in weeks building on his face, he walked back down the hall. Before lights out, he intended to spread the word that Colonel Mustang, First Lieutenant Hawkeye, Alphonse and Winry were okay.

* * *


	25. Chapter 25

* * *

Everything seemed to be moving so fast, it made Victoria feel dizzy. Two days ago, Mr. Draken brought his son into the house, the wounded boy with eyes like fire. Two days ago, and it seemed like a lifetime. Pens scratched over paper then folded into packets to mail away; drawers opened and emptied and closed; clothing and essentials were packed away in trunks and Victoria couldn’t help but wonder why this was happening.

What was so special about one boy? Victoria didn’t have much of a chance to ask with the scurrying and worrying going on in the main house. Her mother pulled Victoria aside the day after the boy arrived and wanted to know if she would like to travel, beyond Creata, with Miss Opal.

And the boy? Victoria wondered even as her mouth said, “Yes!” before she even realized she spoke.

So the bustle and rush became a part of her, too, because she needed new clothes and things to go with the clothes and it seemed like time was something severely lacking. Even so, her trunk was stuffed full enough that she had to sit on it to get it to closed and Victoria really didn’t have enough time to wonder more about the boy until they arrived at the train station and her trunk was loaded along with Miss Opal’s, Cashern’s and Mr. Draken’s. Swiveling, Victoria opened her mouth to ask where the boy was and caught Cashern’s eye. The dark-skinned man shook his head slowly, once and Victoria bobbed her chin in return.

It seemed very little time before the train jerked its way out of the station. Victoria craned her neck, staring out the window. The land just sped by, something she hadn’t expected. The swaying of the car had first made her nauseous but she’d grown accustomed to it after the first hour. “This is so exciting,” she said, bouncing in her seat.

Opal smiled at her fondly. “You aren’t sad to be taken away from your family?”

A mock frown marring her brow, Victoria said, “Oh, no ma’am. How else could I keep learning alchemy?” Victoria traded her frown for a smile, not wanting her teacher to think she really was upset about this unscheduled change in her life.

“Oh, you’re a clever girl,” Opal said, “I’m sure you would’ve figured out something.”

The teasing light in her eyes warmed Victoria enough to ask the question that had haunted her for the past twelve hours, since Opal had asked her if she wanted to come to Amestris. “Miss Opal,” she began tentatively, “why did you ask me?” She twisted the end of her braid around her finger.

“Because you’re my apprentice,” Opal said firmly, as if that was the answer to any question Victoria had to ask. She couldn’t help but notice that Cashern, sitting with Mr. Draken, glanced over the seat back at her. Something about his dark gaze made her think that wasn’t the true answer and Victoria gave her braid a hard twist, wondering why she’d actually been brought along on this trip.

The border crossing had surprised Victoria, who expected the guards to lift her skirts and undress her; instead, they accepted the visas that Opal handed them, their mouths twitching as they eyed the passports and then the woman standing before them. Everyone else had received a cursory glance; a check to make sure the papers were in order and they’d been passed through to Amestis. Victoria had been a little shocked that there really wasn’t that much of a change once they’d crossed the river; the land was still flat and gold and seemed to go on forever.

She started when Opal touched her shoulder, saying, “We’re getting off at the next stop,” but Victoria didn’t question it, following her teacher when she rose to disembark the train car. The men gathered the luggage, Cashern going to hire a cab in the shape of a horse and wagon to haul them to the hotel. Victoria stared about herself in silence, taking in the wooden buildings and the people eyeing them.

Next to her, Mr. Draken slouched, his mouth pursed and his pale eyes shaded by the brim of his hat. “Opal,” he said quietly and she nodded, her own lips compressed. As if the driver picked up on their concern, he urged the horse to greater speed, so it almost trotted along the dusty street.

The hotel seemed makeshift and Victoria couldn’t quite hide her surprise at the eagerness of the others to get inside. Porters hauled the trunks inside as Opal led Victoria to the counter and the manager, requesting rooms on the ground floor. The rooms paid for, Opal settled Victoria onto one of the beds as two trunks were brought into the room. Mouthing the word, “Careful,” Opal said, in a bright, carrying voice, “I don’t know about you, Vickie, but I’m so tired. I just want to sleep for two days.”

Licking her lips, Victoria hesitated until Opal gestured at her, making a winding motion with her hand. “Me, too, Opal,” she said, relaxing a little when the woman nodded in approval. “It seems like we’re still on that train, moving.”

There was a faint thump on the adjoining wall and Opal raised a finger in caution, reaching into her pocket book. Taking out a stick of chalk, she sketched an array on the wall, planting her hands on it. A flash of blue light rose and when Victoria could see again, a door had been made in the wall, Mr. Draken opening it and peering around the room nearsightedly. With barely a glance at her, he took three long steps over to the trunks, popping Victoria’s open before she could protest.

Opal interrupted in that same bright voice. “Do you think there’s even a café here? I forgot to ask the clerk.” As she spoke, Draken hauled the first tray out of the trunk then dragged out the clothing, setting it aside roughly.

Victoria bit back a gasp as a hand landed on her shoulder. Realizing she needed to say something, she flailed for what Opal had said, remembering and saying, “I didn’t see one. I guess I can go ask.”

Another tray removed and Draken reached into the trunk a final time, pulling the boy from it, almost like a rabbit from a hat. The boy clung to Draken’s shoulder with one arm, his face buried against the man’s chest. Victoria could just hear the words Draken murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ve got you.”

The hand on her shoulder squeezed and Victoria tore her gaze away from the pair, looking up at Cashern. He gestured with his head as Opal moved towards the door, crooking her finger at Victoria. With a long look at the golden haired boy, Victoria followed her teacher from the room, Cashern trailing behind them.

* * *   
Winry walked slowly through the house, the sounds made by her shoes echoing off the floors and walls. She wanted to call for Pinako but knew the old woman was gone. Even her ghost wouldn’t haunt this place. Winry shivered at the thought, rubbing her hands on her arms, trying to stop trembling as she made her way down the hallway. A light was on in the living room and she paused, peeking inside.

Someone sat with his back to her, a pool of light surrounding him. His hair was loose for once, a wash of gold over his shoulders and his head was bent forward. Winry knew he had to be looking at a book; what else would Edward be doing? Stepping into the room, she came up behind him to peer over his shoulder. “Ed?”

He turned, his eyes fever bright and lit with a fire she’d never seen. “Winry? I think I can come home.” Ed stabbed a finger at something in the book, a line of gibberish as far as Winry could tell.

“I can’t read it, Ed,” Winry admitted, shaking her head, trying to get her eyes to focus on the page. She could see Ed’s automail finger clearly but the words were just squiggles.

“But it’s right there,” Ed said insistently. He twisted around, holding the book up to her. “Can’t you see?” Beneath the exasperation, there was something else that Winry couldn’t quite define. She looked from the book to Ed, meeting his eyes. His face seemed ravaged; dark except for his gaze burning up at her. “I just want to come home.”

Winry gasped, sitting up abruptly. The dream lingered, Ed’s words ricocheting in her head and she grasped the blanket tightly, trying to calm herself enough to breathe. Her heart thudded almost painfully in her chest and Winry drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. Tears seemed far away for once, trapped in the muddle of anger and loss that held her in their grip.

With a whine, Den rose from her place on the floor, dropping her muzzle on the edge of the bed. Her eyes rolled up to Winry’s, her tail thumped once on the floor in a reminder that she was there. Making room for the dog, Winry hugged Den tightly when she jumped onto the bed with her, pressing her face into Den’s shoulder.

Night seemed to last a long time as they waited for morning.

* * *  
The hotel room was small and crowded, the windows clotted with the golden dust that rose any time something moved on the streets outside. Edward perched unsteadily near the window, his gaze focused on it, seemingly uninterested in the conversation. Maes wondered if the boy was ignoring them politely or lost in his own little world. From the way his hand clenched on his thigh, he’d bet on the latter. Turning to the woman standing in front of the commode, he returned to the discussion they’d been having for the past half hour. “Look, Opal,” Maes said quietly, “I just don’t like the idea of the girl being a decoy.”

She didn’t even bother glancing into the mirror to meet his reflection’s eyes. “Victoria is my responsibility, Albert.” Opal added something to the water, stirring it. In a completely different voice, she said, “This is ready. Come over here.”

Maes made a face, crossing the little room in two strides. The henna stained the water a rich, clay red; something better, he guessed, than the orange red he currently had in his hair. “Now what?”

Opal traced a quick array on the bowl, activating it. Maes took a step back from the blue light, making a face but she caught his wrist before he could get away. “Just bend over and soak your head.” There was a little quirk to her mouth as Opal said it and Maes couldn’t help but answer it with a faint grin of his own.

Ducking his head into the bowl, Maes felt her pour more water down the back of his neck, thoroughly staining his hair. “Wait,” Opal said, before he could stand and she pressed a towel against his shoulders.

Straightening, Maes said, “Thanks,” studying the effects in the mirror. The clay red was an improvement over orange, at least, and with the alchemy, it didn’t seem to be leaving streaks of color down his skin. “Ed, what do you think?” He turned, opening his hands wide, as if he were a vaudeville actor.

Slowly dragging his attention from the window, Edward seemed to come back to himself with a few blinks. His brow creased and his mouth twitched. “Different,” he said, and as if that word broke through whatever thoughts he’d been having, Ed reached up and tugged at a strand of his own hair, nearly going cross-eyed as he studied it.

“You’re next, Edward,” Opal said gently.

“Huh?” He released his hair, his head tilting to the side, looking suddenly, achingly like the boy Maes remembered.

Opal caught his hair, combing through the length with her fingers. Ed whipped around, ripping his hair from her hands. Jaw tightening, he glowered at Opal through his bangs, barking out, “Hughes. Get rid of it.”

“What, Ed?” Maes asked, laying his hands on Opal’s shoulders and moving her aside. Ed reminded him of a feral dog, all teeth and hair trigger attitude. He insinuated himself between them, leaning down slightly to catch the boy’s eyes. “What do you want me to get rid of?”

Something flickered in Edward’s eyes and he shuddered, catching his lower lip in his teeth. Finally, he managed to get out, “My hair. Get rid of it.”

Maes had to force himself not to react, mentally ticking over why Ed would want to cut his hair. None of the reasons he could come up with had anything to do with disguises and everything to do with what Ed had been through these past weeks. His mouth a thin line, Maes sawed through Edward’s ponytail, thinking it had to hurt almost as bad as when Ed had been pulling at it. Ed remained still through the whole process, his eyes closed tight, lips thinned, and when Maes finished, he whispered, “Burn it.”

Opal’s dye turned Ed’s hair a fiery golden red that gave his face a vulpine cast. Maes thought it suited somehow suited Ed, or the boy he’d been before. He wasn’t about to voice that thought aloud. As Opal went about getting rid of the dye, Maes announced, “Tomorrow, we’re heading for Rezembool.”

Edward’s head shot up. “Why?” The word sounded like it grated out of his throat and Opal turned to face the two men, her hands smoothing down the front of her skirt. “I don’t want to go there.”

Surprised, Maes said, “But it’s home for you,” Ed give him a look so full of anguish that the words died in his mouth. Maes tried to say, “You need automail and Winry will want to make it,” but Ed shook his head once, violently.

“No,” he said, the negative coming out as a whisper. “I can’t see her. Not yet.”

Maes sighed, sitting down next to the boy. “I understand, Ed. It’s all right.” He laid a hand on Edward’s shoulder, pleased it wasn’t shaken off. “You still need automail and if not Winry, who would you want to provide it?”

“Just take me to Rush Valley,” Ed had said, rolling away from Maes, his damp hair leaving faint red tinges on the pillow, as if stains from a fire. “That’s good enough.”

Maes exhaled slowly, hoping that Ed was right.

* * *  
The knock at the door was unexpected and Gracia found herself looking up and up to meet Major Armstrong’s eyes. His moustache twitched and he removed his hat, greeting her with a, “Good day, Mrs. Hughes.”

“Major Armstrong, please come in.” She stepped aside, pulling the door open with her to allow the large man inside. He seemed to take up all the space in the entryway, his wide shoulders appearing to almost touch the walls. “I was making myself some tea. May I offer you a cup?”

“Yes, please, Mrs. Hughes. It would be greatly appreciated.” He followed her back to the kitchen, taking a seat at her request. His very presence dwarfed the room, making Gracia smile when he couldn’t see it. She fetched down a second cup and a saucer, found a tin of cookies that weren’t stale and set everything on the table with a creamer and sugar, the pot of tea steaming gently as the centerpiece. Alex Louis insisted on pouring, his huge hands somehow delicate on the porcelain teapot, cradling it as he distributed the tea. The fragrance sifted through the room, the sweet scent of orange and spice soothing. It was a familiar ritual; one that had started after Maes had been shot. Alex Louis would come by for tea; to check on Elicia and her. Gracia would’ve smiled at the huge man over the rim of her cup but he slowly spun his own tea, his broad forehead creased in a frown.

Gracia set down her cup with a clatter, her heart clenching in her chest. “What news have you heard, Alex Louis?”

He raised his head, meeting her eyes, his own widening. “Nothing like that, Mrs. Hughes,” he said quickly, raising a hand to forestall that line of thinking. “The Brigadier General is well.” Alex Louis reached inside his jacket, pulling out an envelope. His blue eyes were moist as he handed the paper across to her. “It seems your husband isn’t the only one still alive.”

Gracia studied him as she accepted the open envelope, sliding the letter out of it. The opening salutation was familiar though the words following it made her cup a hand over her mouth, tears starting in her eyes. “Edward?” she whispered, lifting her gaze from the letter, meeting Alex Louis’ eyes.

He nodded, fishing a handkerchief from his pocket to offer to her, setting it aside when Gracia waved it off. “Cousin Opal,” Alex Louis began then cleared his throat, his fist touching his mouth, “Cousin Opal said they would bring him back to Amestris.”

“Alphonse and Winry will be so happy,” Gracia whispered, the cool paper under her hand suddenly offering hope to two children who’d had far too much pain in their lives. At the sudden dimming of Alex Louis’ eyes, Gracia asked, “What is it?”

Alex Louis folded his hands together, leaning his elbows on the table in a manner that Gracia had never seen. His expression haunted, he said in a low rumble, “I do not know if the boy will see them. Cousin Opal’s letter hinted at something,” his voice hollowed, “dark.” He gestured at the letter. “Perhaps you should read further.”

The paper trembled slightly as she raised it again, reading more than just the first few lines. Maes’ words were short; none of the long letters he once wrote her from Ishbal or even the sweet, careless notes he’d leave for her around the house. No, this letter spoke of finding Edward and the recrimination for not liberating him sooner. Gracia wiped her eyes as the words blurred, her hand clenching on the paper, tight enough to crease the page. “Damn it,” she said, recognizing all too well what Maes wrote without saying; the image of a brand marking Roy’s shoulder rising in her memory; what that bastard Sherman might have done to Edward making her wish she were as good a shot as Riza.

Waiting politely until she returned from her memories, Alex Louis spread his hands in an aborted gesture. “I am afraid there is one more secret we must keep, Mrs. Hughes.”

She nodded, her mouth tightening into a thin line. “I don’t like these secrets,” Gracia told Alex Louis, her voice rough.

He nodded, his face grave. “I understand, Mrs. Hughes. Gracia.” Reaching out, Alex Louis took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “But the Brigadier General and my cousin feel, for the time being, it’s for the best.” Releasing her hand, he laced his fingers around the teacup in front of him. “It will give some time to let the wounds heal.”   
With a sigh, he raised the cup to his mouth and took a sip. Setting the cup back on its saucer carefully, Alex Louis said softly, “Master Sergeant Furey told me that his sister and her family have made it to Rush Valley.”

Gracia let him turn the conversation, giving him a little smile in acknowledgement. “Yes, Kain gave me that information, as well.”

Alex Louis studied the liquid in his cup, as if he could divine the future. “I believed that the children might have come to harm.” His moustache quivered at the thought. “That Miss Rockbell and Alphonse had been hurt.” Raising his eyes, he looked across the table at Gracia. “I was sent to Rezembool with Major Kimbley. He,” Alex Louis passed a hand over his face. “He destroyed their home. I believed they might have hidden within it and feared the worst.” Leaning back in the chair, a sense of relief seemed to settle over his shoulders like a mantle. “To know that they are in Rush Valley,” his voice trailed off.

“I know.” Gracia did understand. When the word came to her that Roy, Riza and the kids were safe, it seemed like everything settled, as much as it could in this broken world. Now, with the information in Maes’ letter to her, she wondered if there was a way to repair even more hurts. Smoothing smoothed the rumpled paper, Gracia folded it and laid it aside. She took a deep breath, let it out, remembering the expressions on Alphonse and Winry’s faces; the way Roy had looked when he came to her. “You know as well as I do, Alex Louis, that some wounds never heal.” Her gaze softened at the pain that slipped over Alex Louis’ face. “Not,” Gracia said, “without a reason for them to do so.”

“Yes,” he rumbled, “but until then, the Brigadier General was most succinct in what information could be disseminated.” Alex Louis inclined his head towards the letter.

“And Roy, too.” Gracia found her mouth twisting in a wry smile. “So many secrets.”

“It is up to us to be the keepers of those secrets,” Alex Louis said gently and Gracia nodded in agreement.

“Yes. But I’ll pray for the day we don’t need to keep them any longer.”

* * *  
“Rhinehold Weege?” Alphonse stared dumbly at Roy, realizing his mouth hung open and he snapped it shut. “Why would I to use that name for my alias?”

Roy laced his fingers around his knees, shrugging smoothly. “It’s a good name,” he said, somehow not sounding at all defensive.

“If it’s such a good name, why aren’t you using it?” Al asked, quirking an eyebrow up.

“Because your friend Ling has graciously allowed me to use a name from his clan.” The smug expression that came over Roy’s face made Alphonse realize exactly why Edward had wanted to smack the man. “And that wouldn’t be something the military would expect.”

“Still. Who’d believe Rhinehold Weege?” Al made a face of disgust.

Riza shook her head, coming to sit with Roy on the sofa. “No one,” she said, giving Roy a look. “Despite what Maes Hughes said, that cannot be a real name.”

“Hughes wouldn’t lie to me,” Roy said lightly, only a slight tremble of his hand showing how much that cost. “He said he found the name on a tombstone, so someone had that name at some point in time.”

“Funny how no one else has that name,” Riza said dryly.

“It does sound made up,” Winry offered quietly from where she sat next to Alphonse on the bed. She turned to him, laying a hand on his shoulder. “What about Dan Fielding?”

“I don’t know.” Al covered her hand with his, giving it a squeeze. “What about you? Twilla Withus?”

Winry’s shrug was accepting of the alias Roy and Riza had picked out for her. “It isn’t as bad as Rhinehold Weege.”

“Nothing is as bad as Rhinehold Weege,” Riza said, not quite under her breath even as Roy yipped, “Hey!”

“What about us being cousins, though? Shouldn’t our last names be the same, at least?” Al glanced at Riza, whom he thought looked enough like Winry to be her older sister. That similarity had been part of the name discussion, that she and Winry were sisters and Alphonse their cousin. That didn’t explain Roy but Alphonse had noticed how close Riza and Roy were, now that they were out from under the military’s rules. Sure they’d come up with a plausible solution to the problem, Alphonse wondered if they’d actually get married or just pretend to be.

Withdrawing her hand from Al’s shoulder, Winry twisted her fingers together. “What,” she asked, “what are we going to do?” Grimacing, she met all their eyes in turn. “Keep hiding from the military? From the homunculi?” She stumbled over the unfamiliar word. “Or are we going to do something?” Her voice rose and her hands tightened on each other, knuckles turning white. “I don’t want to wait for them to come for me,” she said, managing to get control again, “and I don’t want to be caught waiting. I want to be ready.” Winry blinked hard, tears caught in her lashes. She dashed them away impatiently, her expression stern and, Al thought in misery, completely unfamiliar to him. “I don’t want all of this to be in vain,” she said, somewhere between a plea and an order.

Roy leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers loosely joined together. His dark eyes flicked between them. “About that,” he said, his voice serious and somehow gentle, “I have a plan.” Roy’s smile was steadfast and just a little cocky. “How would you two like to help Riza and me overthrow the current government?”

Alphonse rocked back slightly as Winry narrowed her eyes, exchanging a long, silent look between them. It was Al who asked, “What do you need us to do?” while Winry’s sigh relaxed, just a bit, the tension knotting up her shoulders.

Riza’s eyebrows rose at their reactions though Alphonse couldn’t tell if it was from surprise or some other emotion. Roy’s grin broadened and he reached across the space to ruffle Alphonse’s hair. “Right now,” he said, “decide on names you can live under.” His expression grew distant, though his smile didn’t fade. “And we’ll start your training soon.”

Winry’s surprise made her blurt out the question. “What kind of training?”

“For you, automail,” Roy said, “though Riza and I both believe you would benefit from some additional work.” His smile melted into seriousness. “You need to be able to protect yourself, Winry. There may be times when we aren’t available.”

“No need to worry.”

Alphonse never saw Riza’s gun clear its holster, just that it was suddenly there in her hand, pointed at Ling and Ran Fan, both of them caught climbing through the window. Ling’s hands came up as he smiled engagingly, though Ran Fan held a knife, her gaze focused on Riza. “No, no, we’re friends, remember?” Ling asked placatingly, his hands still held up. “Ran Fan, put away that knife.”

“The woman has a weapon pointed at you, young master,” she responded stubbornly and Alphonse wondered exactly how she’d managed to follow Ling through the window with only one arm.

“It’s all right, isn’t it, Colonel? You will call off your guard and Ran Fan will put away the knife.”

Roy nodded, reaching over to lay a hand on Riza’s wrist. She lowered the gun, sliding it back in its holster though her eyes never left the two kids standing near the window. Ling gestured and Ran Fan’s hand twisted, the knife blade disappearing as if it had never existed. “You have something to say to us, Ling?”

“Yes, Colonel, or should I call you Yao Shen?” Ling took a step closer, his merry grin never quite leaving his face. “You said that Miss Winry will need to be watched.”

“Hey,” Winry said, frowning.

Roy held up a hand to silence her. “I believe that she will need to be able to protect herself, not just rely on others to protect her.”

“I understand what you are saying,” Ling nodded in agreement, “especially if you plan on overthrowing your government. Perhaps Ran Fan and I can assist with that, as well as make sure that Miss Winry is kept safe.”

Folding her arms, Winry let out a huff that blew her bangs upward. “I don’t need a babysitter,” she said.

“You don’t know what waits out there, Winry,” Alphonse told her. “If we get involved, well, we are involved, aren’t we?” He gave Roy a wry smile. “You do need to be able to protect yourself.”

“Ran Fan and I will be her bodyguards,” Ling said, hitching his leg up to rest on the back of the couch. “We will even assist you in your battle, Colonel, and,” here his smile did fade, “offer my tribe to you, should it come to that.”

“What do you want in return?” Roy asked, eyeing Ling closely.

Giving a one shouldered shrug, Ling said, “The Philosopher’s Stone. We assist you in your plans, you help us get the stone.”

“Done,” Roy said before Alphonse could open his mouth. Roy held up a hand to still Al’s protests, giving him a quick, subtle frown. When he tried to speak again, Riza’s eyes ticked coldly to him and though he didn’t like it, Al subsided, thinking this was a discussion they’d need to have again, sometime soon.

“I don’t need protection,” Winry began to protest again.

“And to make sure you don’t,” Riza said, cutting her off, “you will start shooting lessons tomorrow.”

Alphonse felt his stomach curl at the idea of Winry with a gun, though his friend only nodded, as if it were something to be expected. “Tomorrow,” she repeated slowly.

“And until you are proficient, Miss Winry, Ran Fan and I will be available,” Ling said cheerfully.

“Me, too,” Alphonse said quietly, taking Winry’s hand in his own, feeling the tension in her fingers. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

* * *


	26. Chapter 26

* * *

The sounds inside the cell ricocheted off the walls, stuttering voices that rose into fearful cries that fell away to silence until something snapped and the refrain started up again. Archer could just make out Kimbley’s words as they fell into the spaces of quiet, the questions repeated over and over, until the answers matched and flowed in a set pattern marred only by sobs of pain. There was another snap, another cry and an answering shriek that rose from the cell, strange enough to curl even Archer’s stomach. Glancing at the creature huddled in the dark corner of the room, he wondered what Tucker thought. The blue eyes were barely visible in the dim light and Archer wondered again if this…thing…was truly sane enough to follow his orders.

The soft whispered laughs of the chimera led Archer to believe trusting such a creature was not in his best interest but as long as it obeyed, for now, he’d keep it. “Your Major is excited, isn’t he?” The creature shifted its weight from one foot to the other. “He’s enjoying himself.” There was a faint, sly smile on the chimera’s mouth as it said, “Is that why you’re here with me, Colonel?”

“My presence inside is unnecessary,” Archer replied stiffly, not liking how close the dart hit.

“Ah, of course,” came the whispered response. “Watching an old woman and a girl being tortured by bits of them being exploded isn’t to everyone’s tastes.” Tucker’s frame seemed to quiver with an emotion the colonel would be hard pressed to describe. The thought that it might be arousal chilled Archer deeper than the bone. “Or perhaps you like to keep your hands from becoming too soiled?”

Archer snapped his eyes up at the hulking creature. “I will not discuss this with you,” he said sharply.

A little titter escaped Tucker’s mouth. “I beg your pardon, Colonel,” it said.

“And you can tell me what you’ve found out about Mustang,” Archer reminded the chimera, pleased when the smile vanished from the chimera’s face.

Bear-like hands spreading in apology, Tucker whispered, “He has vanished, like snow on a sunny day.” The sly tone came back into his voice. “Are you sure he isn’t somewhere in one of these cells?” The claws scraped lightly over damp stone and Archer was reminded of nails and chalkboards, his shoulders tensing uncomfortably.

“I know all the prisoners contained within this structure,” Archer said, not liking how his voice rose and fighting to control it.

“Ah,” Tucker breathed out as pleas rose in a crescendo before another snap echoed out of the cell. The monster cocked its head to the side, ears cupping forward as if to savor the sounds that followed. Blue eyes half-closed, Tucker said in a dreamy voice, “Mustang appears to have escaped the city.”

Restlessly, Archer tapped his fingers on his thigh. A whiff of blood and other, more noxious smells, drifted past him and he couldn’t keep his nose from wrinkling. “Then his location needs to be discerned,” he said, making the words as sharp as he could.

A scream exploded from the cell and Archer found himself wincing slightly. He noticed Tucker’s face turned towards him in that instant and hated that he showed weakness to such a creature. Tucker was barely a useful tool, too highly visible to mingle in with people but the monsters he built and controlled still had merit. “Do the sounds bother you, Colonel?” Tucker hissed, a trace of humor laced through the words.

The comment that any decent man might be disturbed remained unspoken and Archer narrowed his eyes at the creature. “I believe in the most efficient way of retrieving information. The librarian, Sciezca, was a friend of the Elric brothers.” He gestured towards the cell, hearing the whimpers and Kimbley’s voice. “At this point, this is the most efficient way.”

“You are heartless, Colonel,” Tucker said, the whuffing sound of a laugh escaping him. “A girl and her sick mother, tortured to please a sadistic alchemist who probably could’ve found out what you wanted to know with a bare threat.”

Archer allowed his eyebrows to rise slightly at that. “Consider it a gift,” he said, folding his arms, “a reward for a job well done.”

“And what reward will you offer me, Colonel? What sweet treat do you think I want for doing your bidding?” Tucker shuffled again and Archer caught the scent of rank fur and something else, like musk, and the thought that Tucker was aroused seemed even more likely.

“The Philosopher’s Stone, of course,” Archer said smoothly, not allowing any disturbance on his behalf show to the chimera. “A way to bring your daughter back to herself and you, well.” He gave the creature a condescending look that seemed to wash over it.

“Don’t you think you’d better have it in hand before you offer it so freely?” The question cut deep into Archer, making him rethink his position on Tucker’s sanity. Still, even the craziest person could have a clever thought. His eyes canted towards the cell door, where Kimbley’s voice continued in its low tones and Archer wondered, suddenly, about the pair he’d chosen for allies. He had no doubt that they would both get the jobs done but wondered at his own ability to keep up with them.

A wail rose from the cell cut off abruptly by a louder explosion and Archer noticed the chimera’s eyes dilating, even in the dim lighting. He let Tucker’s soft inhalation go unremarked but decided never again would he be alone in the same room as the creature, especially when someone was being questioned.

* * *  
The train station in Rush Valley had been amazingly crowded and Maes thought he’d never seen so much silver in his life. He almost felt uncomfortable, having four sound limbs of his own. Next to him on the donkey cart, Ed’s chin was firm though his eyes told of his distance and Maes remembered that he, Alphonse and Winry had been on their way to Rush Valley the last time Maes had seen them. Glancing across the small cart towards the others of their party, he noticed Opal and Cashern were busy taking in the sights while Victoria studied Ed, making no attempt to hide her interest in him. That contemplative gaze disturbed Maes. His own eyes narrowed and he shot a look at Opal but the concern that started to bloom withered with the sound of a far-too familiar voice.

Beside him, Ed jerked in surprise and Maes grabbed the boy’s shoulders to keep him from tipping over the side of the cart. He recognized that look of terror in Edward’s eyes and pulled Ed close, still seeking the source of that voice.

Maes recognized her more by her stance than anything else, his heart thundering hard in his chest. Her hair dyed a rich chestnut, her spine military straight; Maes thought he would’ve recognized her standing outside the gates of hell. Even Riza’s back was beautiful, her narrow waist flaring to wider hips. The baggy pants she wore hid her graceful legs and swallowed her curves, making her seem nondescript, hiding her from casual observation but Maes could see the way her trousers shifted slightly as she turned, knew she had a pistol in the pocket on her right side. She called again to a shop keep, waving at him to let him know she wanted to make a purchase.

Sucking in a breath, Maes swallowed hard. The others heard, heads spinning toward him and he glanced down, ignoring their questioning eyes. Ed made a sound and burrowed against his side, as if he wanted to climb into Maes’ body. Across from them, Maes could feel the hot stares as he rubbed Edward’s hair, soothing the boy, trying to calm himself though he wanted to slip out of the cart, go to Riza, hug her tight. It wasn’t time, not yet, though he promised himself he would find her, later. Keeping his head tucked down, Maes mumbled against Ed’s hair, “Don’t worry, don’t worry,” feeling the boy’s grip on his jacket ease a little.

The rest of the ride to the hotel passed without incident, though Maes could have done without the prickling that meant Opal, at least, hadn’t taken her eyes off of them. Her curiosity wouldn’t let this mystery pass, he knew, but he hoped to avoid it until he could get Ed settled. Being beholden to Opal was one thing, letting her know everything Maes knew was another and some secrets belonged just to Ed. Certain stories were only his to tell and Maes was not going to overstep that boundary.

The hotel room was small though clean and Maes settled Edward on a bed before paying the porter who’d carried their luggage, such as it was, up the stairs. “Lookin’ for a mechanic?” he asked, eyeing Ed up like a farmer might a horse.

The boy’s cold eyes turned towards the porter. The tip of his tongue moistened his lips before he said huskily, “Yes.”

“There’re a lot of good ones,” the porter said, stepping a little closer to the bed. “I can take you around, if you want, point you out some.”

“Someone fast.” Ed’s fist pounded lightly on the blanket. “Who’s the fastest mechanic in Rush Valley?”

Maes coughed lightly. “Now, you don’t want to make a snap decision,” he said but the porter scratched his balding blond pate, saying, “Ol’ man Alton, he’s mighty fast.”

Ed dipped his chin in a sharp nod. “I want to meet him.”

“Wait a minute,” Maes said, holding up his hands. “Who is this ‘ol man Alton’, anyway? What’s he got to recommend him, besides speed?” He sank on the opposite bed, trying to catch Ed’s eyes, not liking it that the boy avoided his gaze. The porter shrugged slightly, looking between the two of them, his hands diving into his pockets, as if afraid that Maes would ask for the money back.

“I want to meet him,” Edward repeated, leaning back against the headboard of his bed and covering his eyes with his forearm. “As soon as possible.”

“Yessir,” the porter said, nodding emphatically though Ed couldn’t see it. “I’ll be by tomorrow for you.”

“Early.” Ed’s pulled his arm down, fixing the porter with his stare. “No later than nine.”

“No later than nine,” the porter agreed, touching his fingers to his forehead. He bobbed his head politely at Maes and exited the room, pulling the door to behind him.

Maes waited long enough for the footsteps to fade away before turning to Edward. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Getting automail.” Ed covered his eyes again, a study in faked nonchalance.

“Edward.” Maes reached across the space between the beds, rubbing the boy’s shoulder. Beneath the fabric of Ed’s shirt, the metal port felt cold and Maes wondered at Ed’s comfort. Should he wrap a blanket around Ed? Would he even accept it, in the mood he was in? “I don’t understand. Why don’t you want to have Winry make your automail?”

Dropping his arm, Ed turned his face away, his jaw a stubborn, flexing line. The silence stretched uncomfortably but Maes didn’t take his hand back, making circles with his thumb on Ed’s collarbone. Finally, softly, the boy said, “I don’t want her to see me like this.” He swallowed hard, twice, and Maes thought Edward might break but he had no other reaction besides his fingers plucking at the blanket he sat on.

“Ed, don’t you think she’d just be happy to see you?”

That pulled Edward’s hot eyes around to him, the fire in them fairly snapping across the little space between the beds. “How could she be?” he spat out, his hand clenching in the fabric. “I don’t even know if I could let her touch me, Hughes!”

Maes let the words hang there for a few seconds, almost hearing them tick off in his head. Edward’s expression was caught somewhere between lost and horrified and Maes wasn’t sure that Ed wouldn’t be sick, the way his larynx bobbed and bobbed again. Carefully, gently, he said, “But you’d let someone you don’t know make and attach your automail.”

Hunching forward, drawing his knee up in an unconscious attempt to protect himself, maybe even ward Maes off, Edward said in a mutter, “Someone I don’t know won’t ask questions.” A glitter caught in his lashes and Ed blinked hard, turning his face away.

“Ed,” Maes moved to sit on the bed with the boy, “there are certain things you can’t run from. You, of all people, should know that.”

His shoulders came up at that. “I’m not running,” he said in weak protest. “I just,” the words trailed off in a sigh. “Hughes, what about Al? If he’s dead.” Ed swallowed hard, leaning his forehead against his knee. “I promised I’d bring him back, Hughes. I don’t remember what happened in Lior.” He sat up abruptly. “Can we go to Lior? After I get this automail, can we go there? Maybe, maybe if I was there, I could remember what happened, find some clue about Al.”

The sudden hope bloomed in Ed’s eyes, making him seem like the boy Maes had first seen on a train bound for Central, so many years ago. He smiled gently, nodding. “All right. We’ll go to Lior, if it’s safe enough for us to do so.” Patting Ed’s foot, he said, “But I want you to think about talking to Winry.”

“I will.”

The quick response, coupled with the way Ed turned away, did nothing to salve Maes’ concern. He forced a smile, pushing off the bed. “I’m going to go get something to eat. Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Ed scratched the back of his neck. “Ah, as long as it’s not spaghetti.”

“Spaghetti?” Maes cocked an eyebrow but shrugged when no explanation was forthcoming. “All right, Ed. I’ll be back shortly.” He hesitated. “Want me to turn on the radio for you?”

He bobbed his head, still avoiding Maes’ eyes. “Yeah, Hughes, thanks.”

Finding a station that Edward approved of, Maes left the room, closing and locking the door behind him. Laying his hands on the door panel, Maes considered returning, trying to talk more to Ed but the fact that Edward gave him as much as he had was probably pushing it for one day. “Damn it,” Maes muttered under his breath, remembering a pair of mocking, ice blue eyes pinning him down, like he was an insect for study. “I swear, Sherman, I’ll make sure you get yours this time.”

Spinning on his heel, Maes strode down the hall, unconsciously falling into a military cadence. He put Edward out of his thoughts, at least for a little while. Riza Hawkeye was somewhere in Rush Valley, in disguise, and he intended to find out why.

* * *  
Sunlight felt good against his skin and Hohenheim raised his chin, closing his eyes against the brightness of the rays. The warmth seeped into his flesh, almost seeming able to drive away the chill that his bones harbored. Letting out his breath in a long sigh, he walked down the steps of the cathedral. Everything seemed so brilliant and clear, as if it had rained the night before. Hohenheim pushed aside that fancy, knowing that no rain had fallen. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he left the ruins of the building behind, strolling into the city.

The breeze blew brisk, catching the tails of his jacket and making them flap behind him. Hohenheim turned his face into the wind, squinting slightly even beyond the barrier of his glasses. Old habits died hard, involuntary reactions were something that he knew all too well. A faint smile touching his mouth, he nodded politely to an old woman as she passed him by. She reminded him of Pinako Rockbell and Hohenheim spent a few minutes wondering just how long Pinako and her granddaughter might’ve waited for his sons to come home. He remembered the old woman being inordinately clever and a part of him mourned her loss, though he understood its necessity. If only they had laid their hands on Winry, Hohenheim had no doubt his sons would have fallen into line. Her worth as a bargaining chip could have been astronomical if someone had managed to keep her in Central. Who knew that she and his son, Alphonse, would have simply disappeared?

His ramble took him to the military headquarters and Hohenheim studied the building, sheathed in white marble so that it gleamed in the sun. The green banner with the leocampus stood out in stark contrast to the stone around it, the only color showing on the building besides the people in military blue, traversing the stairs. The wind stirred his hair, unraveling the ponytail into single strands that lashed across his skin like a whip. Hohenhim blinked hair out of his eyes, reaching up to brush it away but the breeze blew it back into his face. Some things, alchemy couldn’t change and Hohenheim conceded defeat to nature, turning away from the building and its workers.

The streets began to pick up, the sunlight bringing people out into them. Hohenheim shared the walks with men and women, sidestepping those too involved in their own business to notice him. Red and yellow tulips bloomed in pots outside a flower shop, irises bleeding purple, gold and white into the air. Hohenheim hesitated, seeing the petals, remembering her sweet laughter as he alchemized flowers for her to wear in her hair. His eyes closed briefly at that memory only to open again as someone bumped into him.

“Oh, excuse me!”

Hohenheim glanced down, a gentle smile crossing his mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said, “it’s my fault. I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

The young woman glanced up at him then dropped her gaze, cradling a child close to her chest. “No,” she said, her voice so quiet it barely reached him, shaking her head for emphasis. “It’s mine.” She took a step back and Hohenheim knew she was about to run.

“Please,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder, not at all surprised at her flinch, “let me buy you something to drink, maybe some breakfast to make up for all this.” At her hesitation, Hohenheim added, “If you won’t take anything for yourself, surely your baby…?” She raised her head at that, her lavender eyes blinking at him. Hohenheim thought he could read her entire past in that gaze and something within it touched him. He’d lost Tricia to a mortal death but this girl, maybe he could help her a little. “Come with me,” he said gently. “There’s a little café around the corner from here. We can sit and talk and have breakfast together.” He gestured.

She blinked then, straightening her shoulders unconsciously, her fingers betraying her nervousness as they smoothed over the baby’s blanket. The child fussed a little in her arms but settled down, waving a fist as if to scare off the bright sun shining in its eyes. “All right,” she said, ducking her head again. “It’s very kind of you, sir.”

“Please,” he said, “my name is Von Hohenheim.” He offered her his broad palm.

Hesitating only briefly, she slipped one of her hands into his. “I’m Rose.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Hohenheim laid a hand gently in the center of her back, turning her towards the café. “I hope we get to know each other very well.”

* * *  
The pool of light illuminated the small desk, the soft scratching of pen on paper not enough to disturb the girl sleeping in the near bed. Opal glanced thoughtfully at Victoria, then back at the page. The words she’d written were innocuous taken as a whole, a cheerful, chatty letter of a socialite to a cousin posted far off to the middle of nowhere and the consolations for missing the season. The code that carried the true message was couched in flowery phrases and moans of discontent, the cipher one of many that the   
Armstrong family had used for generations. Opal had been writing these letters for years, even before her cousin, Olivia, with her thoughts of becoming the Fuhrer, had been sent to the Briggs Mountain post. Olivia, now a major general, ruled her mountains with a grip as sure as a rider’s hands on the reins of a restive horse. Opal paused, tapping the end of her pen against her lips lightly before speeding the rest of the letter out, ending it with a promise to write more soon.

A tap at the door alerted her and Opal rose, opening the door to the empty hallway. Closing it behind her, she moved two rooms down, twisting the knob and moving inside. The lamp on the table gave off its meager light, not quite enough to brighten the entire room. “Well?” she asked softly. “What did you find out?”

Cashern settled lightly on the sofa. “Your cousin,” he said, a hint of amusement coloring his accented voice, “is quite resourceful.” His dark eyes, barely visible in the dim light, canted toward Opal. “He is very difficult to follow. I would be surprised if I could do this again.” Crossing his ankle over his knee, Cashern eyed Opal thoughtfully. “I would say he sought out an automail mechanic for his son,” his hand raised before she could speak, “but I’m not sure if that is all he was seeking.”

Her mouth twisted down slightly and Opal tapped her finger on her chin. “He and the boy both reacted to something in the marketplace.”

His smooth shrug only hinted at his annoyance at not providing her the information she wanted. Cashern considered the possibilities before saying, “We could ask the boy.”

Opal turned that suggestion over in her mind, finally shaking her head. “No. He’s skittish enough as it is, I don’t want him to give him any reason to mistrust us.”

“Do you believe you can convince him to join your little party?” Cashern raised his eyebrows at her.

Sitting next to Cashern, Opal twisted to face him. “I believe that he and his ‘father’ would definitely be assets to the Armstrong family and our plans for Amestris.”

Cashern leaned back into the sofa, a little frown knitting his brows together. “And Victoria?”

Opal followed her lover into his recline. “Somehow, I don’t think Victoria will be unwilling. She’s already fascinated by him. It wouldn’t take much encouragement on her behalf. And as for his, he is a young man, with the desires of a young man,” she shook her head slightly, “in spite of what happened to him.” A shadow crossed her face. “And if Victoria doesn’t interest him, I’m sure we can find another tie to bind the boy more tightly to us.”

* * *


	27. Chapter 27

* * *

Sprawled comfortably on the roof of a building, Yao Ling had the perfect view of the streets below. The ebb and flow of Rush Valley reminded him a little of his own village in Xing. People, regardless what race, after all, were people and Ling was a master in the study of humans. So many of them bumbled through life; never quite knowing what they wanted except that they weren’t happy with what they had. They moved with such artless purpose, all the time. His mouth drooped at the thought he couldn’t be so careless, that he had a goal to achieve.

He swung his head, looking towards the hotel where his new companions were lodging. They, at least, had purpose. Ling didn’t kid himself that he knew all of their secrets. It was enough that they allowed him and Ran Fan to tag along, at least for now. The boy, Alphonse, knew something about the Philosopher’s Stone. He hadn’t learned to hide that knowledge yet. Ling knew it would only be a matter of time. Whatever game these four were playing, he had roped himself and Ran Fan into it and tied the knot himself.

Stretching his arms out in front of him to pull the muscles in his shoulders, Ling shifted his weight slightly. It struck him as peculiar, all those people down below and so few of them taking the time to look up. Ling’s eyes sharpened and he stopped mid-stretch, lowering his arms, a curious little smile on his face.

This was the second time the red haired man had ambled down the street, the second time he’d glanced up, studying the rooftops. Ling leaned deeper into the shadow of the chimney he sat next to, watching as the man made his way through the crowds below. A sidelong glance from the redhead was the only indication that he, too, watched the hotel. The corners of Ling’s mouth pulled down. He had made a promise to watch over Miss Winry and watch over her he would. Surely, Ling thought, his eyes heavily lidded, studying the orange-haired man, surely he could be a threat. With a judicious nod, he rose to his feet, automatically glancing behind him.

The space to his left was empty and Ling’s chin dipped. It was difficult to remember that Ran Fan wouldn’t be with him for a time. He only hoped she believed the choices he made were good ones for their clan. With a twitch of his shoulders, Ling started off across the roof, leaping to the next building and then the next, wanting to reach the end of the block before the red haired man did. Ran Fan would scold him, he knew, for following this man on his own but Ling’s curiosity was on the rise. The man didn’t have the feel of the creatures he and Ran Fan had fought, the ones that caused her to lose her arm but that didn’t mean they weren’t connected in some way.

Ling dropped off the roof onto a small balcony, balancing there for a few seconds. He risked a glance around the corner of the building, spotting his prey. He moved easily, hands in his pockets, mouth pursed in a whistle. The long, loose stride spoke of a studied nonchalance though even from where he perched, Ling could tell the man’s gaze darted around the street guardedly. Was he hiding something, Ling wondered, or hiding from something? With a wicked little grin, he decided to make it his mission to find out. Surely Miss Winry would be safe for a little bit, with the others in the hotel. And this man seemed…interesting, much more interesting than sitting on a roof, staring at a building across the street.

He let the man pass by his building and jumped to the ground, landing on the cobblestone street. The soft sound was swallowed up in the other noises of the city and Ling peered out of the alleyway. The red haired man had moved quickly, already half a block away. Frowning, Ling thought perhaps he should have stayed on the rooftops where he wasn’t required to maneuver around so many people. Then there was the matter of his jacket. Brightly colored, nearly as brilliant as that man’s hair, it wasn’t something that was easily hidden. With a mental grumble, Ling shed it, turning it inside out before putting it back on. The cream interior wasn’t quite as eye catching, he thought, as he started after the man, curiosity tugging him along like a child’s toy on a string.

Now, Ling thought with a little grin, the hunt would begin.

* * *  
Stationmaster Coyle blinked at the woman in front of him. Somehow, he thought she looked familiar, that he may have seen her once upon a time. A shadow moved behind her, blocking the light of the sun and Coyle swallowed, a memory niggling in the back of his head. This pair reminded him of something, he was sure of it. “I beg your pardon?” he asked, speaking a little loudly to be heard over the chuffing of the locomotive engine.

“The Rockbell household,” the woman said, clearly, patiently, “I was wondering if you could tell us how to reach the Rockbell household.”

“Well,” Coyle said thoughtfully, stroking the ends of his moustache with thumb and forefinger, “I’d say that you’d have to travel on that road heading east from the station.” He went on with the directions, the woman’s nods of understanding getting more impatient as she learned the distance they’d have to travel.

“Okay,” she said finally, “come on, honey.” She patted the giant’s chest and the pair of them started away from the window.

Coyle blinked and blinked again then stepped out of the office, sidestepping a tender taking the ash away from the train. “Hey! Wait a minute.” The tender glanced at him as Coyle waved at the couple, shrugging when he realized the call wasn’t directed at him. The couple turned back to face Coyle, the woman with a curious expression. The man was unreadable. “You might want to save yourself a trip.”

“Why?” The pair exchanged glances and moved back towards him.

“Well,” Coyle thought about going back inside. There was something about these two that made him feel sort of like a bug, about to be squashed. They couldn’t do anything with the train still here, could they? Squaring his shoulders, he said, “Couple of State Alchemists came by and razed the house.” His moustache drooped farther. “Don’t know what happened to the kids.”

The woman’s face turned pale, her hand reaching out to the man. He caught her, supported her, saying softly, “It’s all right, honey.”

“But Alphonse,” she murmured and Coyle could swear he saw a glint in her eyes, like tears. “And that poor girl.”

“Are you saying,” the huge man said, his voice amazingly gentle, “that the children are missing?”

“The State Alchemists,” Coyle spat to clear his mouth of the words, “didn’t find them here in Rezembool.”

Both rounded on him, their expressions calculating. The woman took a step closer to Coyle, seeming almost predatory in the way she moved. “Then, they left Rezembool.”

He scrubbed at his moustache furiously. “It would appear so,” Coyle said in as steady a voice as he could manage.

The woman’s mouth curved ominously. “Do you know where they went?” One hand rested on her hip, the other hung at her side, lax but somehow, Coyle knew, ready to strike. The tension hummed in her body.

“Away,” he said, swallowing hard, “far away.”

“How far?” The woman swayed closer, that glint in her eyes changing to something flinty.

“Too far,” Coyle said blandly, meeting her gaze, “for the military to find.”

The woman laughed outright, joy suddenly splashing over her face. She patted the giant man’s chest affectionately. “Then I guess we have some hunting to do, huh, honey?” She faced the tracks, her arms akimbo, smiling fondly into the sun. “Which way do you think they would’ve gone?”

The man swung his head slowly, studying the lines. His hand rose, finger pointing south. “He may be looking for us.”

The woman tossed back her braided hair, nodding in agreement. “Let’s go back.”

The man turned to Coyle, digging into his pockets for a wallet. “Two tickets south,” he said, gesturing with the bills towards the ticket window.

* * *   
Dammit, the kid was good. Maes gritted his teeth, turning another corner, trying to lose his follower in the hue and cry of yet another market place. Some sort of contest was going on; he could hear the taunts from the winners and the groans of the losers as he tried to blend into the crowd. Mentally, he cursed his height and his shocking orange hair – whose idea had this been, anyway? Oh, yeah, his – and cut ruthlessly through the mob of people.

He really was better at this, Maes thought, but that kid was tenacious and he’d been too obvious, walking past the hotel like he had. Riza would have his ass if she found out and, right now, Maes couldn’t let that happen. His hand clenched into a fist, remembering all too well that shapechanger morphing from Lieutenant Ross’ form into Gracia’s. That particular nightmare had haunted his sleep far more than he cared to consider and he wasn’t going to chance leading whatever the hell that thing was to his friends. The thought that the shapechanger might be impersonating Riza had crossed his mind but Maes shook it off. He knew intimately how Riza moved and impersonating that would be a feat. Still, shock value counted for a lot in war.

Maes’ mouth turned down and he spun sharply around a gaggle of women. There was a shop ahead; maybe he could lose himself in there. Besides, he wanted to talk to someone about this mechanic Ed wanted to hire. If he could convince Ed to wait until they got to Rezembool, Maes thought it might help. The familiar surroundings would be good for the boy, not to mention if something had happened to Alphonse, Winry would know of it. Pushing aside for the moment that the military might be keeping a close eye on the Fullmetal Alchemist’s mechanic, Maes turned over in his head what he could say to Ed to convince him to go home.

Slipping inside the storefront, Maes hesitated in the dimly lit building. A shudder wracked his frame at the image suddenly coming into focus; arms and legs hanging from hooks on the wall, reminding him of nothing more than a butcher shop. Quelling that grisly fantasy, Maes stepped up to the counter, noting the lack of a familiar layer of red dust. “Hello?” he called, glancing into the darker recesses behind the counter. He could just hear the whine of a grinding wheel and wondered if the mechanic would even realize someone had entered the shop.

The motor cut off and the sound of footsteps took its place. A youngish man came through the doorway, his appraising gaze taking in Maes. “Can I help you?”

Maes let a jaded smile cross his face. “I certainly hope so.” Fastidiously brushing the already-clean counter with his fingertips, he leaned his elbow on it. “My son is in need of an automail mechanic. I’ve been looking through this town and,” he shook his head, “am in sore need of some assistance. Perhaps you can help me.”

The mechanic pulled the dangling rag from his pocket, wiping his hands. “What kind of automail’s your kid needing?”

“Well, I’m afraid he was in a bit of an accident,” Maes hedged. “Two limbs. He has been fitted with ports but that’s as far in the process as we’ve gotten.”

Frowning, the mechanic leaned against the door jam, absently tucking the rag back in place. “Any reason you’re not using the same person who installed the ports to make the automail?”

Maes sighed extravagantly. “My son is in a hurry,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “The old woman said it would take two weeks and to that boy, anything longer than forty-eight hours is an eternity.” He noted the mechanic’s frown deepened.

“Good automail isn’t made that fast,” the mechanic said, shaking his head slowly. “From fittings to installation, for two limbs, that could easily take,” he calculated, eyes drifting above Maes’ head thoughtfully, “six days.”

“As long as that.” Maes scratched the back of his head. “My son won’t want to wait that amount of time.”

The mechanic tapped a grease-blackened finger on the countertop. “Don’t take this the wrong way, mister, but it sounds like your son is an idiot.” His mouth turned down. “There is a guy who does fast work. It ain’t the greatest but if your son wants automail fast, he’s the guy to go to.”

“Would you recommend him?” Maes asked bluntly and the mechanic’s eyebrows raised, his calculating expression showing that Maes’ estimation had gone up.

“Well,” the mechanic drew out the word, making it into syllables, “for speed, Alton’s got that.” He hesitated and drew a little closer to Maes, as if to make a point. “But if your kid is looking for something that’s gonna last and take care of him, he really ought to look elsewhere.”

Maes considered this, nodding his appreciation to the mechanic. “I’ll tell him you said that,” he let the sentence dangle, waiting for the man to say his name.

“Johnson,” the mechanic said. “Arte Johnson.”

“Thank you very much, Mr. Johnson. If I can convince Eric, I may bring him by to see you.” Maes offered his hand to the mechanic, noting the slight hesitation before the man shook it.

“I’m usually here,” he said, offering a tentative grin. Never hurt, Maes knew, to sweet talk a potential customer.

“I appreciate your honesty, Mr. Johnson.” Maes released the mechanic’s hand. “I’ll talk to my son and see what he says.” With a wave, he exited the shop, stepping back into the full brightness of the afternoon sun. Squinting, Maes paused, letting his eyes adjust to the light before venturing off the stoop. Glancing over the street, he caught sight of the kid, not letting his gaze linger on that figure. Dammit. Well, Maes thought, there were ways of getting rid of a tail.

Twisting his wrist, Maes caught the hilt of the punch dagger secreted in his sleeve and started off down the street. If it turned out the kid was following him, he’d have to take some sort of action.

* * *   
Edward fidgeted restlessly on the bed in the hotel room. The radio droned on, someone with a booming voice talking about unrest on the eastern border. Unrest, there was always unrest. Turning, Ed grabbed his pillow and pounded on it, trying to fluff the feathers inside. His eyes felt heavy; tired, and, leaning back into the pillow, he let them close. Tossing his arm over his face to block out the light, Ed let out a sigh. His body ached fiercely. He knew lying around wasn’t helping muscles that had been too tense for too long. He needed to get up, to move, but without automail, he was stuck in one place, like a turtle flipped on its back. His thoughts wandered; turning and twisting and Ed did nothing to control the way they drifted.

Al. Ed bit his lip as the thought of his brother surfaced again. What the hell had happened to Alphonse? What happened in Lior? He realized the thumping sound was his fist pounding the mattress and stilled his hand, forcing it open. Opening his eyes, he stared at the ceiling. It looked like a road map of a country he didn’t know and Ed’s stomach lurched in response. Rolling to his side, Ed panted, fingers digging into the blanket, keeping his eyes open as wide as they could be, as if that would stop the memories playing out in his head. His body flinched automatically at the sound of footsteps beyond the door, skin tightening in preparation for the lash. The scar on his left shoulder blade seemed to burn on its own.

“Mine,” something hissed in his ear.

With a cry, Ed rolled, falling out of the bed. Heart racing, he fought with his breath, trying to control it, the ragged pants sounding far too loud in his ears. He clapped his hand over his mouth, teeth closing over the fleshy webbing between thumb and forefinger. The pain cleared his head somewhat, brought him back to the present. The door was locked; Hughes had made sure of it before leaving. No one would be able to just barge in and touch him and Edward let out a shaky, long sigh, pulling his leg up so he could rest his chin on his knee. Sweat trickled down his sides and forehead and Ed caught a whiff of himself, that familiar stench of fear rising to clog his nostrils. He snorted, shaking his head. His bangs clung damply to his face and his shirt stuck to his skin. Raising his arm, Ed swiped his face against his sleeve, mopping the worst of the sweat off.

A soft knock came at the door and Edward whipped around, nearly throwing himself out of the bed. He clung to the mattress, eyes barely raised over it, watching as the knob twisted. Someone knocked again, a voice just reaching him, the words not quite distinguishable, “…not here.”

The response was lower, even less clear and Ed bit his lower lip, straining to hear. Another faint sound, a hand striking the door lightly, and Edward could make out that they were leaving. A part of him knew that Miss Armstrong was on the other side of the door but another part hissed in his ear, making him wonder why she would be knocking. Ed shuddered, trying to force the images from his mind of Margot’s gleeful smile but his memories mocked his efforts.

Sliding down the side of the bed, Edward huddled on the floor. He forced his mind to go to somewhere, anywhere, where Margot’s laugh and that faint, hissing voice couldn’t follow. Latching onto the end of a childish voice, Ed grasped the memory tight, forcing the words past his lips, “…w-water, thirty-five liters. Carbon, twenty kilo-kilograms. Ammonia, four liters….”

* * *


	28. Chapter 28

* * *

The setting sun turned the fading stucco buildings rich red. The orange and scarlet hues slipped through the partially drawn curtains of the hotel room, staining the bedding and part of the floor. Bare feet paddled in the light, pale skin dyed orange briefly as she kicked her legs. A mirror shared the room, showing her a girl with haunted, weary eyes. Her hair seemed too dark for her coloring, as if a shroud covered her head.

Turning from the reflection’s eyes, she laid her hand over a book. She couldn’t remember now how many times she’d looked at it, the diagrams and words still making no sense. The three photographs anchored to the pages kept pulling her back to them, leafing from one to the next to the next. She tried to keep her hands from reaching for it but it almost seemed a compulsion, to page through the journal again and again, as if suddenly, the words and diagrams might make sense.

A young man stepped from the bath, toweling his dark hair dry. They met each others’ eyes and his dropped to the book in front of her. “C’mon,” he said hoarsely, reaching out his hand. Taking it, the girl allowed him to pull her up, tucking the journal against her chest. Swallowing, she leaned her head against his shoulder and he put his arm gingerly around her waist. The red light from the sun poured over their forms and she closed her eyes against it, thinking it reminded her too much of blood.

* * *   
Ling watched as the red haired man left the shop. He spared a curious glance toward the shop door, not seeing any difference in it and many of the others scattered about the streets of Rush Valley. Shrugging, he tossed himself into the ebb and flow of the people, crossing the current to reach the far side of the street. The man sauntered along the building walls, whistling, as far as Ling could tell. Glancing automatically behind him, Ling scowled, missing Ran Fan’s presence. It felt almost like he lost a hand, not having her with him. She could have ranged ahead of his mark; they could’ve caught him in a pincers move. With a rolling shrug, Ling knew it couldn’t be helped, though he promised himself, once again, that the creature that had caused Ran Fan to lose her arm would pay.

That, he reminded himself abruptly as the red haired man disappeared around a corner, had to wait for another day. Picking up speed, Ling pushed through the crowd, ignoring, for an instant, common sense that would say, slow down, don’t make a scene. Reaching the intersection, Ling hesitated, not sure how the man had accomplished such a trick as vanishing – his height and hair made him almost as noticeable as a lit match in a darkened room. Casting from side to side, Ling scowled. Thinking he would lose face if Ran Fan knew he’d lost his mark, Ling wished again she was with him. Shoving that thought away, he glanced toward the roof of the nearest building, wondering how much attention he’d garner, climbing up. Would it be worth it?

Making his decision, Ling moved down the street, spotting a dark entryway leading to an alley; narrow and crooked and littered with packing crates. A faint, feral grin flashed over his face and Ling started for the largest stack.

The shadow detached itself from the wall so smoothly, Ling almost didn’t realize his mistake. A part of him applauded the red haired man’s abilities even as he felt a shock of dismay run through him. The prick of a blade against his throat warned Ling not to move, a soft breath ruffling the hair on the top of his crown. “Now,” the man said in a voice that sounded far too amused for Ling’s already damaged pride, “how about you tell me why you’re following me?”

* * *   
Roy knew better than to allow himself to show surprise but still, the changes in Riza, Alphonse and Winry jolted him. Long blond hair cut short and curled adorned Riza’s head, the color darkened to a rich chestnut that was mirrored in Winry’s tresses. She wore hers in a long braid, looped up in a crown on head. Alphonse’s soft blond hair had also been shorn and colored, nearly to the same shade as the women’s. The addition of glasses with smoky-hued lenses disguised the color of his amber-brown eyes. Even their clothing had changed; Riza wore a simple rose-colored dress and a cream colored shirt, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, while Winry seemed to have taken a page from her friend Paninya and wore pants that seemed made up of pockets. A button-down shirt was tied at her waist and her sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. Alphonse wore something similar to Winry; the same canvas trousers and a nondescript grey cotton work shirt under an open button down shirt, sleeves cuffed to hide the fact that his skin was still so pale as to be nearly translucent.

“You look,” Roy said softly, eyeing the trio before him.

Alphonse scratched at his hair, ruffling it up from the back to the front. “The dye won’t last long, even with alchemy. We’ll have to touch it up every few days.” He shoved the glasses up his nose with his middle finger. “Do you think it’s enough?”

“They’ll be searching for a blond man,” Roy said as Riza joined him on the sofa, “not a family of siblings.”

“What about you?” Winry asked, dropping into the uncomfortable chair at the table, laying a familiar black book down on top of it. Her hand rubbed across the cover and Roy wondered, with a pang, if she slept with his journal.

“I am but a humble merchant,” Roy said, “at my wife’s beck and call.” He took Riza’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

Alphonse’s eyebrows lifted, though more in confirmation than surprise. Winry didn’t seem to notice. “What else?” she asked softly. Blue eyes; weary, miserable; turned to Roy. “What else?”

“We regroup,” Roy said, his voice low but sure, “we plan. And when the time is right, we strike.” He waited until he was sure he had both Winry’s and Alphonse’s attention, that they understood. “I can’t guarantee we’ll win but we’ll have done something.”

* * *  
Ran Fan raised her head, studying the interior of the small building. Plans and schematics lined the walls; limbs made of metal hung from the ceiling or lay quiescent beneath glass counters. If her people were superstitious, she would have felt strange in this place, as it was, the girl, Paninya, had led her here, wanting to introduce her to an automail mechanic.

The man was gruff and old and reminded Ran Fan of her grandfather, Fuu, with his loud words and accusations but there was something calming in him as well as he looked over her damaged body, making her feel comfortable despite being mostly unclothed before him. “I can do this,” Mr. Dominic told her, “but it will take time. Mine and yours.” His hard hands seemed unexpectedly gentle on her shoulders. “This is not something that will happen overnight, girl. It takes years to master your automail.”

“Years?” Ran Fan frowned at that concept. Her young master needed her. She could not leave him to his own devices for years. She could only imagine the foolhardy things he could get up to without her watching his back. “Unacceptable.”

“It does take years,” Paninya said, glancing between them. “I mean, even as a child, it took me a long time to learn to use my automail.” Her steel fist clenched. “But once you can.” Her eyes lit up with a fierce, proud joy that Ran Fan recognized.

“I do not have years,” Ran Fan told them both. “I have a duty that cannot wait that long.” She focused on Mr. Dominic. “Six months.”

“Six?” His heavy brows drew down, the furrows deepening in his face. “You’ll kill yourself working that hard.”

She took a deep, steadying breath. “Six months,” Ran Fan repeated firmly. “If that is unacceptable to you, then I shall find another mechanic.”

Mr. Dominic studied her, the straight line of her ruined body, searched her eyes with his own. A faint smile suddenly lightened his face and he nodded, a quick, sharp inclination of his head. “No,” he said, “because I don’t want you destroyed by anyone else. We’ll start work two days from now.”

“Tomorrow,” Ran Fan insisted.

He held up two fingers, an inadvertent insulting gesture that made Ran Fan itch to reach for her dagger. She could feel her fingers twitch even, knowing that they weren’t there. “I have other commissions to complete before I start on your arm.” Mr. Dominic’s gaze shuttered. “And an apprentice to start training.” He hesitated, glancing at Paninya. “It will be a good thing, both of you beginning at the same time. You’ll learn together.”

“That is acceptable,” Ran Fan said, albeit grudgingly. Six months was an eternity but just the time she gave to this mechanic. To herself, she promised that she would be able to use her automail limb long before the six months was up.

* * *   
Maes smiled at the young man, putting the faintest whisper of pressure against the knife blade. The edge nipped into his throat, a slow trickle of blood sliding across his skin. The boy swallowed, his larynx bobbing against the blade. “So, how about it, son?”

“I am not your son,” he said, defiant, his hand sneaking for his waistband.

“But you are following me.” Maes caught the boy’s wrist, slamming it into the wall of the building behind him. The soft clatter of metal against stone told him he’d read the boy right and he grinned. “Please don’t try that again. I’d hate to have to kill you without getting the information I want.”

The kid’s eyes widened just enough to show his surprise and Maes waited him out, hoping he really didn’t have to kill the boy. It just wasn’t right but he would do it and grieve about the stupidity of it all later. “C’mon, son, spill. Why were you following me?”

Boldly throwing the words up at Maes, he asked, “Why did you walk past the same hotel? Are you searching for someone?”

Interesting. Maes almost relaxed into a grin but caught himself before he did. “What about you, son? Why were you watching the hotel?”

Now sulky, obviously perturbed he hadn’t rocked Maes with his questions, the kid’s lower lip poked out. He straightened his shoulders almost imperceptibly and Maes readied for another attempt at escape or attack. When the boy remained quiet, Maes gave him a light shake, a reminder that he needed to talk. Sighing, the boy’s mouth flipped into a brilliant smile, one meant to charm and disarm and Maes found an answering grin on his own face. “I have a duty,” the boy said and eeled sideways.

Expecting such a move, Maes slid with him, throwing his heavier body against the boy’s to halt his progress. The kid grunted, an explosion of air, his skull rapping off the stucco behind him. Maes said, “I warned you, kid. I really don’t want to hurt you but if I have to, I will. Just tell me why you were following me. Does it have to do with the military?”

The near imperceptible tightening of the boy’s mouth told him that he’d scored. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

Sighing, Maes rapped him against the building again, feeling bad about it. “Yeah, son, you kinda do. Remember? I’ve got the knife. You’ve got the answers. Let’s get on with it, hmm? I have an appointment to make and I really don’t want to keep my friend waiting any longer than I have to. What’s in the hotel that’s got you watching it?”

He licked his lips, the smile that had been hovering about his face finally disappearing. “People. People I promised to protect.”

“Ahh.” Maes nodded. “A woman?”

“My servant.” Reluctantly.

“Somehow, I doubt that but I’ll let that stand. There is a woman in the hotel. She has a dog. Curly-tailed.” Maes caught the involuntary twitch that told him what he wanted to know. “You’re protecting her?” he asked, not even bothering to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“No,” the kid burst out, scowling. “She is strong in her own right. She has no need of my protection.” He wanted to fold his arms but didn’t. “There’s another. Two more.” His face softened. “And my servant. She was damaged in battle. I must protect them. It is my duty.”

“So you followed me,” Maes said.

The scowl returned. “You were too interested in the hotel.”

Maes stepped back from the boy, spinning the knife around his hand and sheathing it. “Go ahead, pick up your knife.” He leaned on the opposite building, watching with quiet amusement as the kid hooked his toes under the knife, kicking it up into his hand. Maes could see the deliberation on the boy’s face, wondering absently whether the kid would just throw the blade or sheath it. Sheathing won out, much to Maes’ relief. Dodging a throw was difficult at the best of times; in such a confined space, he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to manage it.

“You’re not going to kill me.” The boy sounded just a little astonished.

“Nah. You’re doing me a favor, if you’re with Hawkeye.”

The blink showed the boy’s bemusement. “How so?” he asked, finally crossing his arms the way Maes had known he wanted to earlier.

“I wanted to know what she’s doing in Rush Valley.”

Curiosity won out. “Why?”

“Because, last time I knew, she was stationed in the east.” Maes realized the kid didn’t know anything about that by the blank look on his face. “Who else is in the group? You said two others.” When the boy turned his head, Maes smiled engagingly. “Look, I could find out myself. You’re making it easier for me.”

Curling his lip, the boy finally said, “A boy. A girl. Cousins. She protects them, as I have vowed to do.”

Maes rubbed his chin, the stray thought that he needed to shave making itself known. A memory clicked, a girl’s plaintive voice about her brothers not telling her anything rose to the surface. It couldn’t be, not here, he thought wonderingly, and Maes turned to the boy, feeling his pulse rate increase as he whispered, “Tell me, the cousins. Are their names Alphonse and Winry?”

A flash of dismay crossed the boy’s face and Maes rocked back, emotions flooding him. Alphonse was alive. Reaching over, he grabbed the boy’s shoulder, spinning him towards the alley’s mouth. “Come on!”

“What?” The boy tried to plant his feet but Maes was bigger, heavier and used to moving reluctant people. “I have a duty!”

“So do I, to a young man in my care. And he’s going to be very interested in what you have to tell him about his baby brother.” Maes hustled the boy out onto the streets, pointing him in the direction of his hotel.

* * *  
Archer stood in front of the broad desk, hands clasped behind his back, eyes focused on the panes of glass beyond it. Afternoon sunlight dyed everything crimson, staining everything it touched in the color of blood. Archer managed to forestall a shiver, remembering how Kimbley had looked as he stepped out of that cell, his mouth curled in a malicious smile, eyes lit with a glee that seemed all to inhuman, splattered in scarlet.

Fuhrer Bradley studied the report in front of him, the setting sun casting his body in shadow. Archer mused that it seemed peculiar, that the Fuhrer’s shade seemed to reach across the desk, covering everything beyond it in black. He allowed himself a tiny, mental smile – even he was not lost entirely to the sun’s light; the Fuhrer’s shadow caught him as well. “Lieutenant Colonel Archer.”

“Yes, sir?”

The Fuhrer tilted his head, though Archer couldn’t read his expression. “In this report, you state that Major Kimbley did not uncover any information as to the whereabouts of Alphonse Elric through,” the Fuhrer flipped back a page of the report, “his questioning of the informants.”

“Regrettably, sir, he did not.” Archer allowed himself a slight frown. “The best lead that we had was the librarian and she is no longer with us.”

“Oh? What a pity.” The Fuhrer’s voice had no trace of sympathy in it, despite the word.

“The only other information that we have managed to find is that Mr. Elric left Rezembool. No one appears able to remember when he left or the location of his final destination and,” Archer’s mouth tightened slightly, “it would be less than efficient to question the entire community.”

“Yes, yes, I agree.” The Fuhrer made a mark on the inside of the file, signed the last page and passed it to his personal secretary. She accepted it without a word, adding the file to a stack on her desk. “Thank you for your time, Lieutenant Colonel. I trust that if anything comes up, you will notify me immediately.”

“Yes, sir, Fuhrer.” Archer saluted and, when the gesture was returned, pivoted on his foot, marching out of the office.

Bradley watched as the man closed the door behind him. Leaning back in his chair, he glanced over his shoulder at Lieutenant Douglas. “What do you think, my dear? Is he telling the truth?”

Her eyes remaining downcast, Douglas considered the question. “I believe so, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Archer does have his eye toward the future. He does not want to suffer any setbacks in his plans. If he had found out anything about Alphonse Elric, he would have passed along the information.”

“Hmm,” Bradley tapped his broad fingers on the desk blotter. “Unless he planned on acting on that information on his own.” Douglas raised her head at that, exchanging a long glance with the Fuhrer. He smiled eventually. “If he does, it will save us work. However, we may want to keep a closer eye on Frank Archer.”

“Agreed, sir.” Douglas made a note of that.

“Now,” Bradley took the next file off the stack. “I wonder if any additional information has come in from Lior?”

* * *   
The curtain fluttered slightly from the cool breeze, silver moonlight streaming through the opening. Edward woke abruptly, heart racing, his breath coming in gasps. He could hear someone breathing, so close, so –

\- the dream shredded and Ed realized where he was, falling back onto the mattress with a stifled moan. Hughes, he thought, that’s Hughes sleeping in the next bed. Hughes, not – Ed didn’t allow that to reach its conclusion, doggedly turning his thoughts to earlier in the day, with the boy from Xing and his news. Ed still couldn’t quite believe it but it was the best thing he’d heard in over a month.

_Alphonse was alive._

Not just alive, but here, in Rush Valley. If Yao Ling was to be believed, less than a dozen streets separated them and for some reason, Edward was willing to take that on faith. It seemed right, that his brother would be that close.

Ed had simply stared at the kid Hughes had dragged into the hotel room, a smile that bordered on manic plastered across the older man’s face. He’d flung introductions like confetti, thumping Ling down on the hard sofa. And he’d said the words that made that thin wire that had been keeping Ed upright break, letting everything inside him surge forward; heart, blood, tears; that Al was here, right here, and Hughes wanted to take Ed to his little brother.

“C’mon, Ed. Let’s get over there,” Hughes had said and Ed was surprised that the man’s face didn’t split apart from the smile.

But something choked him up, something that refused to let him agree, just sent Ed teetering on the edge. He could almost see the delineation mark – one side led to Al and the other lay swallowed in darkness. And Ed knew, right now, what he had to choose.

“I can’t,” he’d whispered, stopping Hughes dead still. “I can’t do it.”

Hughes had sent Ling away shortly after that, promising that he’d get in touch with the kid and, after locking the door up again, sank down on the bed opposite of Edward’s. “You wanna tell me what’s going on, Ed?” He sounded concerned, curious, and the words sliced right into Ed’s skin, making him twitch and squirm.

“I can’t do it, Hughes. Not yet.” Shaking his head so his bangs shuttered his eyes, Ed stared at his hand, squeezing it into a fist. “Not until…” He wasn’t even sure what he protested, what goal he wanted to achieve, before he went to Al but Ed knew that he couldn’t do it, not now. Not yet.

“Winry’s with him, Ed,” Hughes went on gently. “If she’s here, she can make your automail.” He didn’t say anything about Alton though Ed knew Hughes was just waiting to make that argument.

“No.” Ed only hoped he sounded firm and not as plaintive as he thought he did. His stomach twisted in knots at the idea of seeing Al again.

_Alphonse was alive and human._

Whatever happened in Lior, it brought his brother back and Edward was willing to let those memories lie where they’d fallen. He had enough to take their place since then. He still couldn’t quite keep from wondering how they’d gotten separated but at least, if Al was with Winry and Lieutenant Hawkeye, he’d be safe and that was the main thing. “It’s all I really want, anyway,” Ed whispered to the three-quarter moon, hoping if he repeated it enough times, he’d start believing it.

* * *


	29. Chapter 29

* * *

“Young master?”

Ling rolled onto his side, the better to see Ran Fan. Moonlight didn’t quite touch her face; illuming her hand, resting lightly on the pallet that Miss Winry insisted she have, when Ran Fan refused to sleep in the room with the other girl but on the roof with him. Ling couldn’t help but hide a little smile at that; both women were stubborn beyond belief. He thought it would be an interesting battle of wills, once their lives were not in so much upheaval. “Yes, Ran Fan?”

“What happened today to make you so quiet?”

Ah, her sharp eyes missed so little. Ling stretched his arms, enjoying the feeling of his muscles pulling beneath his skin. The faint noise from Ran Fan told him she knew he was stalling for time. He did let himself grin then, turning on his side and cushioning his cheek with his bent arm. “I met someone.”

“You were in a fight.” Ran Fan’s decisive words made him chuckle and take a swipe at his neck, where a thin scab line rode his skin.

“Not much of one.” He waved a self-depreciating hand, not about to tell her that he’d lost the fight before it even began. “The man I met, he is very interesting.”

Even in shadow, he could see her eyes light. “Is he someone who could help us?”

Raising the hand not pillowing his head, Ling forestalled her line of questions. “I am not sure, Ran Fan.” He mulled that thought, considering. Choosing his words carefully, Ling said, “He knows our new comrades, very well.”

Her eyebrows arced. “How well?” Ran Fan made it clear, in those two words, if these people were a hindrance to their goals, she would insist they break it off now, and honor be hanged.

“As Yao Shen is the guardian of Miss Twilla and Daniel, this Mr. Draken is the guardian of Erik.” Ling pursed his mouth, adding quietly, “And they are in hiding, too.” The noises of Rush Valley did little to cover Ran Fan’s soft gasp of understanding. Sitting up, Ling stretched his arms and legs out in front of him, deliberately not looking at his companion. “I was asked to say nothing.”

Ran Fan shifted her position in the pallet and Ling could feel the weight of her regard on his back. His shoulders wanted to twitch in response to that look but he kept still, refusing to let Ran Fan’s concern color what he had promised to do. So many promises. Ling sighed quietly, his shoulders slumping for an instant.

“Young master,” Ran Fan said, as tentative if her bare feet felt their way across a piece of rice paper, “Alphonse and Miss Winry, they have lost someone important to them.”

“Those names don’t exist any more, Ran Fan, and neither do the people who owned them.” Ling told himself the justification worked, even if he didn’t believe it any more than Ran Fan did.

“But the loss remains.”

Yes, that was the part that Ling knew would drive him to distraction – the obvious pain in the eyes of the young woman he had sworn to protect; the young man swathed in sorrow. If he told them what he knew, Ling wondered, how would things change? From what little time he’d had to observe the crippled boy, he had felt it in the air, a self-loathing that hung around the boy like a miasma cloud. Despite what the red haired man said at first, Ling doubted Edward Elric would welcome his family knowing he was here.

Reluctantly, Ling turned to Ran Fan, meeting the steady stare of her dark eyes. “Yes, it does,” he said, folding his arms, trying to present a decisive manner to this girl who knew him better than even his closest blood kin. “That wound must remain.” He looked away, his expression grim, “Even if it would be better to bind it tight, for now, it must bleed.”

* * *  
Edward manipulated the fingers of his right hand, listening to them clack together. A faint frown showed on his face. Flexing his wrist, he held his hand out in front of him.

Alton, the mechanic, raised his bushy eyebrows. “Something wrong, kid?” he asked then yelped as Edward spun on the ball of his right foot, left leg shooting out in a high arc, whistling over the mechanic’s head. The man ducked reflexively as Ed punched with his right hand, twisting it.

Hughes leaned against the doorjamb, saying, “You might want to take that outside.” He left off, “Before you scare the mechanic so he never lets you come back,” but that hung in the air anyways.

Ed nodded abruptly, rolling his right shoulder. He walked past both men, a little frown on his face. Hughes turned to follow him then hesitated. “You are coming in case he needs some adjustments?”

The mechanic blew out a gust of air, rubbing a cloth over his shiny pate. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, “let me get my kit.”

Ed clattered through the building, heading for the little square of land next to Alton’s shop. Pulling open the door, Ed walked out into the sunlight, shading his eyes automatically. A surge bubbled up in him, remembered from his childhood, when he’d first stood on the new leg that Pinako and Winry had made for him and a smile flickered like a flame across his face.

Exploding into action, Ed took one step forward and leaped into the air, left leg curled against his body, leading with his right limbs. A gust of sound escaped him and he twisted so he landed on the palm of his right hand, spinning his body into a cartwheel, both feet striking out against imaginary foes.

“What the hell?” the mechanic asked as he followed Hughes out the door.

“That,” Hughes said, a cautiously pleased light in his eyes, “is a good thing.”

Ed landed in a crouch, right hand barely touching the ground, then sprang forward, his palms slapping the ground. He flipped his body up and over, his left foot jarring when it struck the ground. Grimacing, Ed kicked out, once with each leg then dropped low, performing a sweep with his left foot, eyes widening as someone leaped his ankle.

A foot snapped out at his face and Ed grunted, jerking his chin back. The shoe whiffed past his bangs and Ed grabbed his opponent’s ankle, spilling onto his back and scissoring his feet around Cashern’s other leg. The man twisted his body, evading the capture, pulling free of Ed’s grip. Ed somersaulted backwards as Cashern leaped at him, tucking his body so his toes dug into the hard dirt first, giving him enough leverage to spring up from the ground. He aimed for Cashern’s gut but the man sidestepped and Ed swore under his breath. Cashern snatched his coiled fist out of the air, making Ed stumble slightly. He turned that to his advantage, planting his right foot and bringing up his left knee, forcing Cashern to release him. Ed snapped his foot up, catching Cashern in the shoulder.

Cashern wheeled away from the hit, landing in a position with his legs spread apart, his hands upraised. Ed barely let him have time to set himself, following his snap kick by leaping into a spinning roundhouse, his right leg snapping out at Cashern’s head. Ed could hear someone shout as he completed the spin, his foot slicing the air over Cashern’s skull. It seemed for a second he moved in slow motion; everything coalescing in the still evening air, and then Edward landed, his left foot hitting the ground first and suddenly pitching him forward as Cashern kicked him in the knee joint.

Twisting his body so he landed on his hands, Ed flipped himself up and over his palms with a grunt, eyes wide open so he could spot his opponent charging forward. “Oh, shit!” Landing in a squat, he sprung hard to the right, letting Cashern’s fist slice past him.

Digging a bandanna out of his pocket, Alton scrubbed his sweating head. “Well, Mr. Draken? Does the automail pass inspection?” He gestured at Ed, nearly backed into a wall by Cashern’s attack.

Hughes smiled faintly, proudly, as Ed leaped up and back, feet striking the wall behind him and pushing off of it to crash into Cashern. Both men rolled through the red dust, Ed pinning Cashern to the ground, a triumphant grin on his face. And then Cashern made some complicated wiggle and flipped Ed, making him swear. “Yeah.” Hughes nodded. “Yeah, I think it does.”

* * *  
“I’m not a surgeon,” Dominic said, “I don’t have any qualifications that way. But you’ll need to be fitted with the automail port before we can really start working for you.” He leaned his hand against the countertop, talking to the young Xingese woman sitting in the chair in front of him. Hovering over her was a young man of the same race, hair pulled back in a long ponytail. His mouth was grim, much tighter than the girl’s. Personally, Dominic didn’t think the girl looked like she should even be out of bed yet. Her skin had that waxy tone to it; as if she still healed from whatever made her lose her arm. The shock of that loss still lingered in the corners of her eyes. He’d already given up trying to talk Ran Fan out of it though; the girl was stubborn beyond belief. “Since you came here with my apprentice, I’m sure you know she’s got a background in automail surgery.”

Ran Fan nodded, a slow bob of her head, a silken strand of her hair slipping into her eyes.

“What we’ll be doing today is collecting the information necessary to build your arm. I’ll also be giving you the names of a few automail surgeons I know, whom I’ve worked with in the past.” Dominic’s face softened and he knelt in front of the girl, laying a hand on her knee. “I’m not going to lie to you, missy. This is painful. You’ll curse everyone and everything. You’ll yell at me, at Twilla,” he waved a hand at his apprentice, “at your friend, here.” Dominic nodded at Ling, standing behind her. “You might go so far as to wish you were dead. And even once your surgery is over and we’ve installed your automail, you’ll still have to learn how to use it. Metal and hydraulics don’t act or react the same way that flesh and bone do. You’ll suffer from heat and cold and I don’t know an amputee yet who doesn’t have a problem when the weather changes.”

Ran Fan’s chin rose, her dark, luminous gaze meeting Dominic’s. “How soon can we begin?”

He cracked a smile, beckoning Twilla, with her tape and pencil and paper, forward. “We can get started with your measurements right now.”

* * *   
Opal stared out the window at the ruddy buildings beyond. She already wanted out of this town with its oppressive heat, even now, in the spring. She didn’t want to imagine how hot it would be in the summer, with no trees or grass to soothe the soul, just more and more of those red rocks surrounding the area. As an alchemist, she knew that the red in the stone indicated the presence of iron. As a traveling investigator for her family, she recognized perhaps what the military failed to, that this valley could make both an excellent fort and a terrible grave, depending on how an attack might be leveled. As a woman, she hated it for the lack of greenery and simply wanted to leave as soon as Maes Hughes’ – no, Albert Draken’s boy was kitted to do so.

She knew that today was the day the boy was to get his automail and wondered how that went. Opal knew she would find out; her money, well, the Armstrong funding, paid for that automail. She’d heard Draken say something about wanting to take the boy to Rezembool, to his regular mechanics, and his dismay at the boy’s lack of desire to return there. Something twisted in Opal at statement, like a key in a lock. If the boy didn’t want to return, perhaps he was ripe for becoming a part of her family’s machinations.

Simply put, Olivia Armstrong wanted to be the Fuhrer of Amestris. She had the qualifications and the strength to get there. The family was more than willing to put her in the president’s seat. Opal personally thought her cousin could do no worse than King Bradley. The man had managed to nearly destroy one race less than a decade ago and another one had fallen under his sword earlier this year. Understanding a need to keep control was one thing; the utter destruction of two separate races something else entirely. Frowning, Opal realized her fists were clenched. Her family, despite their ties to the military, would back Olivia’s play. It was why Opal trekked from one side of Amestris to the other, searching for insights and plays that would help her family achieve their goal – an Armstrong in control of Amestris.

Sighing, Opal brushed a strand of hair from her forehead, patting it into place. The dreams of her family consumed them all; perhaps making them less than what they should be. Surely they understood that. And yet, the heady brilliance of that dream caught all of them up, kept them moving towards that goal – a unified Amestris, under the watchful eyes of the Armstrongs. Who better to guide the country toward a glorious new future, she thought, not quite ironically, than a family whose roots went back centuries? Still, for all their grandiose past, she looked to the future as well; wanting something beyond this war and infighting. Opal wanted Amestris to be a proud, peaceful country; one that could stand its ground to Drachma and Creata and also reach out to them as well, to forge a new path with those countries as allies rather than the cautious enemies they were now.

She knew that some people would have to suffer to help the Armstrongs achieve that goal and while Opal felt bad for that, she knew she wouldn’t hesitate to use them in any way necessary. Being ruthless was another thing that was a long standing Armstrong tradition and Opal knew that any feelings she had otherwise could hurt their chances. That fate dropped a young alchemist practically in her lap was not a tool she would overlook and her family would look down on her for not making use of him.

Touching her fingertips to the window, Opal whispered an apology to the boy, knowing she would never do so to his face. Steeling herself, she turned away from the glass, from the sunset falling through that orange sky, and mentally prepared herself to speak to Draken and his son.

* * *  
“My dear, what are you doing here?”

Rose raised her head in surprise, seeing the tall, blond man. “Oh. Mr. Hohenheim.” She mustered a smile, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She sat on a stoop outside a building, the concrete cracked and the door boarded up. Grass grew through the cobblestone street, long strands that the wind stirred, so the seed heads bobbed. “I…” Rose lowered her head, stroking her thin fingers along her child’s cheek. “We don’t really have anywhere to go, Mr. Hohenheim.” She smiled in a self-depreciating manner at her son, knowing the man standing nearby wouldn’t see it.

“This isn’t a nice neighborhood, Rose,” Mr. Hohenheim said, a hint of concern in his voice.

“That’s…that’s all right.” Rose tickled her fingers over the baby’s nose, making him gurgle. “I don’t…I don’t have any money for anything else.” She didn’t want to tell him she hadn’t eaten in a few days; that her milk was drying up. Rose wasn’t sure how much longer she’d even be able to feed her baby.

“You poor child.” Mr. Hohenheim squatted next to her, the tails of his coat spurning the grass. “Why don’t you come with me? I can make sure that you have a place to stay the night, at least.”

“Oh, I couldn’t.” Rose gave him a worried little smile. “It isn’t….”

“Correct? Child, you staying out in this part of town with a baby that young isn’t the best idea, either. Trust me, all I’m trying to do is look out for you.” Mr. Hohenheim’s face gentled, his golden eyes warm as they met hers. “I had young children of my own, once. There is nothing more frightening than the thought that you might not be able to take care of them, am I right?” When Rose nodded, the man smiled gently. “Come with me, Rose. I’ll help you. That’s all I want to do. I don’t want repayment of any sort.”

“But,” Rose struggled against the idea, searching his face. “I should.” Her hands gripped the soiled blanket her baby slept in.

“Rose, please. Let me help you.” He stood up, reaching down his hand to her. “If you must, consider it a payment on a debt I’ve long owed, to my own children. A debt that,” his mouth turned down slightly, “I have no way of repaying.” Something in his face told Rose that she shouldn’t pry; shouldn’t argue; should accept this offer. Still, she hesitated before taking his hand, long enough that Mr. Hohenheim noticed. “I’m sorry, my dear, that is not something I should have shared with you. Let it go and please, accept my offer. It will make an old man happier than you can realize.”

Taking in a deep breath, Rose laid her hand in Mr. Hohenheim’s broad palm. His warm fingers closed over hers and helped her to her feet. Adjusting her baby against her chest, Rose let Mr. Hohenheim lead her down the street, away from the decrepit building. “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Hohenheim,” she said, risking a look up into his face.

“My dear, no thanks are necessary.” He smiled at her and Rose felt almost as if she were sheltered by the warmth in his smile.

* * *  
Paninya led the way down one of the winding, narrow streets of Rush Valley. Turning around, she walked backwards, her smile brilliant in the twilight. “It isn’t much further, I promise.”

“That’s what you said fifteen minutes ago,” Roy muttered, deciding the first thing he was going to do would be to get better shoes. These little crepe things did not protect his feet like military boots did.

“Shen,” Riza sighed out the alias, “can you actually walk?”

“Not easily.” Roy shot Riza a little pout. “Couldn’t we have taken a cart?”

“Weren’t you the one complaining about the horse smell in your clothing?” Riza waved a hand in front of her face, trying to stir the nonexistent breeze.

“That’s different,” Roy said in retort, realizing that Paninya’s dark, sparkling eyes were narrowed in amusement. “What?” he snapped.

“You’re awfully cranky, aren’t you, Mr. Yao?”

Paninya’s question couldn’t be that innocent, Roy thought, glaring at her. The way the other two kids, Alphonse – no. Dan. Dan and Twilla – exchanged smirks showed that they were in on it, too. “Don’t make me show you how cranky I can get, Paninya,” he said, brows drawing tightly down. Next to him, Riza rolled her eyes, almost at the same time Black Hayate bounced on his hind feet. Roy had the feeling they were both laughing at him, despite the fact that he was sure the dog was reacting to the sight of the cat further down the street than anything he might say.

“Whatever.” Paninya smiled broadly and slipped up between Al and Winry, hooking her arms through theirs. Alphonse started a bit, almost stumbling, though the surprised grin showed he wasn’t at all upset at the attention. Paninya obviously realized it, smiling up at him guilelessly. Roy noticed Winry’s faint, knowing grin; the wistful twist to it making his heart contract.

Winry was just a kid, he thought. It wasn’t fair that she’d lost so much. Roy’s gaze rested on the back of Alphonse’s head. For either of them, he amended. He himself knew too much about the pain of loss, though everything that had been taken away from these kids trumped his own misery. Roy knew that one of the goals he wanted to achieve involved bringing Al and Winry happiness. He wasn’t sure how he was going to accomplish it but he did want to see them smile again; bright, cheerful smiles that weren’t shadowed by grief.

“Look,” Paninya said, untwining her arm from Winry’s to point ahead of them. Catching Winry’s hand, she tugged at both the kids, pulling them into a run with her. Winry’s dog raced alongside them, the clatter of her automail limb loud on the quiet street. Whining, Black Hayate twisted at the end of his leash and, with a little sigh, Riza released him.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, love?” Roy asked as the black and white dog raced down the street.

“I don’t think he’ll get hurt following the kids,” Riza said, folding the leash and slipping it into her pocket. “He’s very obedient.”

“Yes, he has a stern mommy, doesn’t he?” Roy didn’t hide his little smile.

Riza’s face remained placid though her eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes.”

The kids had already made it to an adobe house, the color faded to a pale creamy orange, greenery in the form of cacti lurking to catch unaware visitors. Roy’s eyes widened a bit at the savage spikes on something that looked as if it might stalk away, given half a chance. “I think it’s looking at me.” Roy paused at the gateway, shuddering.

“As long as it isn’t hungry,” Riza said, seeming reluctant to go through the gate and past that plant.

“Hm. I wonder what it would cost to extract it.” Roy thought that fire would do nicely but the idea of setting even a plant aflame made his shoulders twitch in remembrance. The desert, he thought, played many games with his memory. He didn’t particularly want to add to the bad ones he already carried with him.

“Let’s definitely consider it.” Riza edged past the plant and through the door the kids had left open for them.

Roy trailed behind, picking up the sounds of dogs barking as they charged through the house. “First thing,” he said, “if we like this place, we’re making the fence higher.”

Riza nodded, her sharpshooter eyes studying the building. Roy watched as she started prowling then, with a grin, left her to it. He went through the front door, hearing the muted voices of the kids and the pounding of feet. Closing his eyes, he let himself feel the space itself, the faint taste of stale air and dust being chased by the fresher breeze, blowing in from outside.

A light, masculine voice broke in. “Mr. Yao Shen?”

He turned to see a man who reminded him slightly of Havoc and had to fight to keep nostalgia from taking him over. Placing his hands together, he bowed in a manner that brought back other memories, long dormant, and Roy straightened, thinking that he needed to practice that sweep. It was rusty. “You are the realtor?” he asked as the blond man gazed at him, nonplussed.

Regaining his composure, he smiled. “Yes. I’m Rog Alton. Mr. Dominic told me you were in the market for a house.”

Roy nodded, glancing around at the interior of the building. He saw a few cracks in the walls, evidence of settling, but the interior was cool and despite that faint, unused scent in the air, it had a good feel to it. The entry room was wide and tall, a ceiling fan moving lazily to stir the stale air. Windows with awnings let in light but not the complete blare of the Rush Valley sun. Tile floors would stay cool in the summer, Roy thought, and could be warmed by rugs in the winter. “My family is, yes,” he said to the realtor. “My sister-in-law will be studying under Mr. Dominic.”

Alton nodded. “Mr. Dominic told my father and me something about that when we were talking earlier.” He waved a hand, changing the subject. “This is a good house for a family. The walls are solid,” he caught Roy’s eyes going to the cracks and grinned slightly, shaking his head. “Don’t let that fool you. This house is in superb condition.” He gestured for Roy to follow as he led the way into the next room, a dining room with doors that opened into the courtyard. Riza prowled around that expanse of flagstones, more cacti and a lone tree that somehow battled the heat and sand to survive. Roy could just hear feet above his head and tilted back, frowning slightly.

Alton misinterpreted the look. “That’s a solid roof there. The second floor has a balcony and there’s a way to get to the second floor roof, too.”

“Really?” Roy considered the possibilities of that. He paused in the great room, studying the fireplace. It seemed large enough to roast a side of beef and Roy thought personally that it would come in handy in the winter months. The size of it meant someone was likely to be able to climb down the chimney, though, and Roy started making plans for making sure that didn’t happen. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps he should question Riza and the kids first rather than make the decision completely on his own. “I’d like to see that,” he said, responding to Alton’s comment about the roof.

It took some time but they finally met in the courtyard next to a dried up fountain. Roy barely glanced at it, thinking that alchemy or Winry’s handiwork could probably get it going again. Alton made them promise to let him know if they were interested in the house and locked it up as the kids drifted over. “Well?” Roy asked, folding his arms and leaning against the fountain basin.

“It could be easily made defendable,” Riza said, nodding towards the walls and the roof. “It wouldn’t take much work and we could make it look as if it were part of the design. Some of those large cacti would provide a definite barrier and,” she glanced at the dogs, chasing each other around the courtyard, “I noticed guard dogs are not unexpected here in Rush Valley. I’m sure we could acquire some young dogs for that purpose.”

“Puppies?” Alphonse’s eyes brightened.

Riza brushed his bangs back with her fingertips. “Defensive weapons,” she said gently.

“But if Win - ” Alphonse caught himself, “Twilla is going to be making automail, won’t we need dogs that don’t mind strangers? Otherwise, how will she see her clients?”

“Dogs can be trained,” Riza told him, “with patience. And they also will alert us if someone comes into the house or the yard that we aren’t expecting.” She gestured at the walls. “We can add more height to those, as well.”

“It sounds like a prison,” Winry said softly. “Guard dogs and high walls and sniper windows.” She shivered as Alphonse put his arm around her shoulders.

“You understand that it’s for your protection?” Roy hated that sad expression on her face but couldn’t let it rule him. When she nodded, he gave her a little smile in return. “Good. Because I think this is the house we should purchase. It’s close enough to your mentor that you can get to his shop quickly and, as Riza said, easily fortifiable.”

“And there’s room in the basement to set up recovery rooms,” Alphonse said, “or guest rooms, whatever we might need.”

“Guests,” Riza said thoughtfully and gave the kids a soft grin. “Yes, I suppose we might have guests from time to time.” She glanced at Paninya, who listened to the conversation with an enthusiastic air.

“Then I’ll speak to Alton regarding the purchase.” Roy straightened the cuffs of his jacket, thinking personally that the heat was going to make him wilt like a hothouse flower. “And we’ll get started on this place as soon as we move in.” He left the kids with Riza, deciding that rescuing Alton from the overly affectionate Black Hayate might be a good idea.

* * *  
The train rumbled away from Rush Valley, heading north. Maes jerked awake, blinking slightly, reaching up under his glasses to rub his eyes with thumb and forefinger. A little snore startled him and he glanced down, surprised to see a mop of red hair spilled over his shoulder. Events rearranged themselves in his head and he remembered who belonged to this hair, who leaned against him now.

Ed snorted softly, his cheek rubbing against Maes’ shoulder, though he remained asleep. Maes remembered how surprised he’d been that the boy seemed to go from wide awake, staring out the window to fast asleep and drooling. Cautiously, he pulled his arm up from between them, hearing Ed’s little protest at being forced to move. Stretching his arm as much as he could, Maes cocked his elbow on the seatback, resting his palm on Ed’s shoulder.

The name was breathed out on an exhalation of air, so softly that Maes knew if he hadn’t been chosen as Ed’s pillow he’d have never heard it. “…Al,” Ed mumbled again, squirming a little.

“He’s okay,” Maes said, squeezing Ed’s shoulder. “He’s fine.”

“Mm.” Ed found another position and fell into a deeper sleep, his breath evening out.

Glancing across at the man in the next seat, Maes found himself meeting Cashern’s amused eyes.

“It’s good the boy trusts you, Draken,” he said quietly, barely loud enough to be heard over the clatter of wheels on the tracks. “He needs someone to trust.”

Maes didn’t really want to talk to the other man about how he’d failed Ed. Sighing, he turned his attention at the window, at the dark landscape passing them by. Lowly, he said, “He has a family to go home to.”

“Right now,” Cashern nodded at them, “it appears you are his family.”

Shooting a scowl at the dark-haired man, Maes said, “I’m just filling in. He’ll go home soon enough.” Even, Maes promised himself, if I have to drag Ed there, kicking and swearing.

* * *


	30. Chapter 30

* * *

Ed gaped in surprise at the size of the hedges walling off whatever was behind them to the outside world. Something inside him felt insignificant to the greenery, even though he knew it was just boxwood and yew, maintained by human hands. Still, maybe that was it, that someone had taken the time to grow such tall bushes to make a barrier between what lay outside the hedge and what was inside. Then the gateway opened, revealing a mansion that completely dwarfed Opal Armstrong’s place in Creata.

The limousine drove slowly through the gate, the guard saluting as it crept past, his dark grey uniform reminiscent of the Amestrian military and Ed twisted in his seat, staring first at the man then up at the building, rising like a mountain ahead of them. “What is this place?” he blurted out, leaning forward over the seat.

Opal sighed in fond exasperation. “The ancestral home of the Armstrong family.” She turned slightly, her expression twisting into amusement. “Don’t be surprised if everything here is bigger than normal. Must make sure that everyone’s aware that the lineage is one of the oldest and proudest in Amestris.”

Ed barely heard that last bit, falling back into his seat next to Hughes. The older man sat still though Ed could practically feel him vibrating. Hughes ran a hand over his orange hair; shoved his glasses up his long nose, peering through them and the window, his pale eyes narrowed sharply then widened, a smile slowly appearing on his face. Jerking on the handle, Hughes shoved the door open, Opal’s quick word making Cashern slam on the brakes as Hughes tumbled out of the backseat of the car. He landed on his knees, Ed reaching out after him as the car lurched, nearly falling out himself. Hughes pushed up like a sprinter, running across that green manicured lawn, arms outstretched.

“Oh,” Edward said, recognizing the woman standing next to a bubbling fountain. He pulled the door shut, settling back down. Knowing he shouldn’t, that this was a private moment, Ed couldn’t help himself, peering through his red bangs at Maes Hughes, greeting his wife. Beside him, he heard Victoria’s little surprised inhalation as Hughes swept Mrs. Hughes up to spin her in a circle, burying his face against her throat. Closing his eyes, Ed turned away but his imagination couldn’t help but paint the picture of another reunion for him. The car started forward again, driving the rest of the way to the house, leaving the couple to their bliss and Edward thinking of the two people most important to him.

* * *

They’d started moving into the new house almost immediately, having nothing really to move. Their former lives were packed into small trunks or, in the case of the dogs, capered at the ends of leashes. Everything else, except for memories and regrets, was gone.

Roy wasn’t sure if he felt relief at that or concern. This house in Rush Valley would give them stability, that he knew, but would it be enough? Would it give them what they each needed; a haven, a place to heal? Those worries chased themselves through his mind even as Riza showed him the pieces of furniture that she and the kids had ordered in an attempt to make this house into a home. The stuff was serviceable, plain, sturdy – and Roy knew that no matter what, they all saw this house as a camp; just a lighting place for now. Nothing permanent, no matter that they were going through the motions.

Healing, Roy knew, was something that came with time. He just hoped the military would allow them that respite. How long, he wondered, would they search for Alphonse? He couldn’t be sure that they wouldn’t be looking for him, as well. He’d be considered a threat to the current regime, of that much Roy was certain. But Alphonse, well, the Fuhrer himself had tried to recruit Al. That boded no good and Roy wished he knew the reasoning behind it. With his brother dead, what use would the Fuhrer have with Alphonse? Granted, the boy had shown alchemic talent in the past but who knew that he now had the same skill as his older brother, the ability to transmute without a circle? Did the Fuhrer suspect something?

Letting those thoughts mull in his head led him down unpleasant roads. The military wanted alchemists under its control, Roy knew that much. Look at the perks of being a military alchemist – an annual stipend far beyond what the general public knew of, not to mention the salary on top of that; access to research; the rank of major just for joining. Roy had never considered such things in the past. With a little, self-depreciating laugh, he wondered if he’d thought them his fair due for being a ‘human weapon’. No, he’d never really considered it that; more like the bribe that bought his silence. Silence for destroying a race of people, silence for killing two doctors, who only wanted to help.

Irony struck Roy again – that the daughter of those murdered doctors was now in his care. Shaking his head, he inscribed a circle on the table in front of him, the natural oil of his skin leaving a mark behind. “What goes around, comes around,” he muttered to the tabletop and the thick black journal sitting on top of it, pages marked by colored tabs.

“There you are.”

Winry’s cross voice startled him, though somehow, Roy realized he’d been expecting her for some time. Roy wondered if that was some special sense of hers, to always show up when he felt like crap. “What is it?” he asked lazily, pushing the long braid of hair back over his shoulder. Riza’s hair, cut short, the length of it alchemically bonded to his own – a neat trick to add to his disguise. He watched as Winry stalked into the dining room, hauling Alphonse behind her by the wrist. Her other hand clenched a notebook tightly, one that Roy knew all too well, having given it to her in Central. She stopped on the other side of the table, slamming the book onto it. Next to her, Alphonse winced, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

Roy didn’t like that expression on Winry’s face. Though he’d only actually come to know the girl recently, he’d quickly learned that particular look meant she wouldn’t be dissuaded from her decided course. The book lying on the table, coupled with that stern glare, almost gave him a chill. Alphonse’s wretched expression let Roy know that he’d already attempted to change Winry’s mind and had failed miserably.

Chin high, Winry tapped the cover of Roy’s alchemic journal on human transmutation with her forefinger. “Tell me,” she demanded.

“Tell you what?” Roy tried to catch Al’s eye over her shoulder. The boy waved his hands frantically, shaking his head. Some help he’d be.

“Tell me.” Winry flipped back the cover, the book opening to a transmutation circle, a photograph glued on the page opposite of it. “Tell me what that means.”

“Why should I?” Roy guarded the book in front of him, lacing his fingers on top of it. “You’re not an alchemist.” His eyes narrowed sharply. “And you’re not going to attempt human transmutation, Winry. You know the price one pays for that.”

She had the decency to flush, rocking back on her heels at the nearly bloodless incision his words left behind. “No,” she shook her head. “I’m not going to try anything.” Winry clenched her hands into fists, so tightly that her knuckles went white and her forearms trembled. “But I want to know.” A sob lurked in her words, one contained so tightly Roy wasn’t even sure if the girl knew he’d heard it. “Why is it so important? Why is it,” she raised one of her fists, drawing it over her watering eyes, “so damned important, that someone would risk a life over it?”

Al put his hands on her shoulders and, when they weren’t shaken off, wrapped them around her from behind. “Winry,” he said, his voice a low murmur, barely enough to stir the fine loose hair at her ear, “this kind of science, it isn’t your path. You don’t need to walk down it.”

“I do!” Roy had the impression Winry wanted to stomp her foot. Had she been just a little younger, she might have. “I want to know.” Her plea was directed between them both, her beseeching gaze seeking Roy across the table; her head tilting slightly to press against Al’s cheek. “I just want to know what it means. I want to be able to read it. That’s all. I’m not,” Winry’s voice broke and she bit her lip before trying again. “I’m not going to try alchemy. I don’t even want to. But I want to be able to read this.” She swept a hand over Roy’s notebook, Maes Hughes grinning up blankly from the photograph pasted on the page.

Roy sighed softly. “Winry,” he said, “sit down.” He gestured at a chair and, as Alphonse pulled it out for her, she dropped into it nearly bonelessly. Looking up at the young man, Roy went on. “Why don’t you get some paper and pencils, Al. I’ll probably need your help with this.”

Astounded, Alphonse glanced from Roy to Winry and back again. “But,” he started then shrugged expressively. “Yes, sir.” Turning neatly on his heel, he left the room, leaving Roy and Winry, sitting across from each other, both with black bound books in front of them.

Roy watched as Winry swipe the back of her hand across her eyes again and fished in his pocket, finding a handkerchief. He rose slightly from his seat to pass it across the table to her. Winry accepted it gracelessly, pressing the cool, soft fabric to her face. “I’m sorry,” she muttered from behind the cloth.

“No, you’re not.” Her gaze came up sharply, surprise nearly startling the tears from her eyes. Roy smiled humorlessly back at her. “You’re a strong girl, Winry. A strong young woman,” he amended. “You don’t need to apologize for getting your way. It’s a disservice to yourself if you do.”

Winry gulped, nodding. She twisted the handkerchief in her hands, her gaze downcast to the picture of Hughes in the notebook. At least, Roy thought that’s where she looked. For all he knew, she saw something completely different; her parents, her grandmother, Edward.

Al returned to the room, pencils and erasers in hand, sheets of paper rolled into his fist. He set them on the table, eyeing Roy then Winry. Roy waved at him to sit down and when Al had, passed the journal he’d held onto to the young man. “I found this,” he said slowly, “in Edward’s things. I kept hold of it, hoping that it might lead to something but the last note, well.” He shrugged as Alphonse took the journal in his hands wonderingly. “Edward’s code is unbreakable to me.”

“He wrote it like a travelogue,” Alphonse said softly, cracking the book gently. Winry craned to see it and he shared it with her, “Even I couldn’t break his code.”

“That’s Ed’s journal?” Winry stared at the book.

Roy felt shamed at the almost hungry expression in her eyes. “Yes,” he said as Al nodded. “All of his research notes on everything he did. I’m assuming he started keeping this after he joined the military?”

Bobbing his head again, Alphonse said, “Before that, we kept everything here.” He tapped his temple. “We didn’t want anyone figuring out what we were doing. We’d recite our theories to each other so we didn’t forget them.” His expression distant, Al rubbed his fingers over the heavy paper, caressing it briefly before closing it and handing it to Winry.

She accepted the book, her fingers curling around it, though she made no effort to open it. Instead, she studied the two alchemists seated with her, curiosity lighting her face. “I still want to know what it says.” Winry nodded at Roy’s open notebook on the table.

“Of course.” Roy put his hands together. “Winry, this isn’t something that can be learned in a day. Alchemists study long and hard to be able to read the symbols such as you see in my notebook. If you really want to read these books, if you really want to understand them, you have to be willing to dedicate yourself to them.” He raised a level stare to her.

Winry stared back and Roy could see her heart in her eyes. He had to look away first, hearing her whispered words, “I just want to know what they mean.”

“All right.” Gruffly, he shoved a pencil toward her and a piece of paper. “Let’s start with the basic elements, shall we? Alphonse, recite them for Winry.”

* * *  
Married couples speak in codes. They don’t necessarily need to use names because so much information is shared between the two, actually naming someone is unnecessary. The inflection of the voice, the cant of the head, a slight gesture, all that can be used instead to indicate a particular person. When Maes asked Gracia, “How is he?” with a brush of his hand over his hair, Gracia knew immediately who he meant.

“Disheartened,” she answered promptly, “but alive, thanks to some quick thinking.”

They curled together in a bedroom, a sweet breeze blowing the curtains away from the open windows. Gracia drew circles on her husband’s chest, loving the texture of smooth skin contrasted with wiry hair making a ‘t’ along his pectorals and down the line of his breastbone, stretching past his navel. She’d traversed that trail many times in the past and, despite the scar that marred Maes’ torso, slowing him down, she planned on making that journey many more times in the immediate future.

“Mm.” Maes dragged the tips of his fingers across her rounded shoulder, up her neck and back again. “Something else they have in common.” His pale eyes flicked towards the doorway, an indication he spoke of Edward, lurking somewhere within the house, as well as Roy Mustang, left behind in Rush Valley.

Gracia curled her leg over Maes’, rubbing her foot along his calf. “He was miserable. I did my best to cheer him up.” She leaned her cheek against Maes’ chest. “He wanted me to go with them.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Maes said honestly. “What he and Riza are doing; it’s dangerous.”

She raised her head, poking him lightly in the sternum. “No more dangerous than the game you’re playing, Maes.”

“Hey, hey,” he raised his hands in protest. “I’m not playing any game.”

“You’re not?” Gracia’s eyebrows arched. “What do you call it?”

The corners of his mouth pulling down, Maes wriggled out from under her, sitting up in the bed. He bowed his back, his fingers laced together. “Right now? Paying a debt.”

“Honey?” Gracia rose, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Maes placed his laced fingers behind his head. “Gracia, I should have killed him.”

Gracia knew who Maes meant from the letter he had sent her while in Creata; his terse words advising her that, once again, Sherman had done his best to destroy a young man whom he should have been helping. Gracia wrapped her arms around Maes, curling against his back. If she could take away her husband’s pain, she would. “What did Sherman do to Edward?”

“Everything he did to Roy and more.” Maes’ hands fell down into his lap and it seemed all the rage fled as well. He spoke in a monotone, the words falling slowly, like a trickle of acid, dripping holes into her heart. Gracia held her husband as he spoke, her tears sliding down the skin of his back, unable to find her own voice as Maes told the story of how he found Edward.

When Maes finished, the scenes he described seemed to fill the comfortable room, making it seem close and stifling. Gracia rubbed her wet cheek against his shoulder, saying in a hoarse voice, “You didn’t know, honey.”

“I should have suspected.” Maes sounded tired and bitter and Gracia knew that it was all a circle, coming back on him. “I should have known, Gracia. That place, all the guards, the prostitutes. I should’ve guessed and gotten Ed out of there sooner.”

“You did your best.” As she said that, Gracia knew the phrase was like salt on a wound. Maes jerked free from her embrace, all but leaping from the bed. He turned to face her, the agony etched into his face heartbreaking to her. She opened her arms, wanting Maes back in them, wanting to offer her comfort and receive it from him in return.

He lowered his head, remaining so far away. “Gracia, I failed Ed the same way I failed Roy.”

Gracia wanted to cry again at the self-loathing in Maes’ voice. “Honey,” she murmured, climbing off the bed, her hands stretched out to him, “honey.” Almost surprised Maes let her approach, she slipped her arms around him, holding him tightly. Maes stiffened in her embrace but Gracia persevered, making him accept her attempt to soothe him.

Finally, he slumped against her, his arms coming tight around her, his face buried in her messy hair. “Damn it,” Maes whispered, the curse vehement. “Why does that man do so much to ruin people’s lives?”

Gracia felt Maes tremble against her, his body shaking finally with the release of pain, and she held him tight while he cried.

* * *  
Margot raised her head, hearing the call for their train. Picking up her carpet bag, she stood up, touching lightly the hat on her head. Beside her, the tall man folded his newspaper, the headline prominently displayed, with a clear photograph of a young man glaring into the camera’s lens, a dark, metallic mass behind him. The words read, _“Fullmetal Alchemist Sighted in Lior!”_

“Do you believe it?” Margot asked her patron, tilting her head back to meet Sherman’s colorless eyes.

“Not at all. It’s a ruse, an attempt to draw the boy out of hiding. He’s a little hothead, my terrier.” Sherman laid his palm in the center of Margot’s back, guiding her towards the boarding platform. “He’ll show himself and even if he doesn’t, his brother will come looking for him. Where one goes, the other will follow, according to the information I have.” Sherman allowed her to board the car ahead of him. “They’re completely devoted.”

“Do you think the brother is the one who released Edward?” Margot kept her voice low, knowing that the background noise would keep anyone from listening in easily. From what she’d now learned, Edward Elric was more than just a State Alchemist, he was a famous State Alchemist. And to think he’d been hers. It just left her with a little shiver of delight.

“Possibly. More likely, another accomplice.” Sherman guided her to the private room, opening the door for her. Nodding her head in gratitude, Margot slipped inside of the room, setting her carpet bag on the floor next to her feet. Sherman sat across from her, flipping open the newspaper to allow her to see the article. A cold grin spread across his mouth as he pointed out, “Look, a reward for any information relating to the return of Edward Elric to the military.”

Margot scanned the article, her brows drawing down slightly as she read. “This is saying he was captured and possibly being held prisoner.”

“Sometimes, lies mixed with the truth go down better than the lies by themselves.” Sherman turned his head slightly to stare out the window. “If it brings the terrier to heel, that’s the important part, wouldn’t you agree?”

Nodding, Margot folded the paper again, laying it on the seat next to her. Sherman seemed distracted by the view outside the window, leaving her to entertain herself. Closing her eyes, she imagined Edward as she’d last seen him; naked, painted up in gold, his nails enameled and his wrist cuffed back. Licking her lips unconsciously, she remembered how well he’d responded to her, how his skin had warmed to her ministrations. Something whispered in her memory and she opened her eyes, returning to the newspaper article.

“What is it?” Sherman asked, curiosity roused. He shifted his weight on the bench as Margot skimmed the article again.

“Edward. When I was with him, he would repeat a name.” She raised her eyes to Sherman’s. Margot considered for a few seconds. “Something…Gwen? No. Winry. Her name is Winry. Maybe there needs to be a mention of her in the next article.”

“Winry, eh?” Sherman made a sound that could have been approval or irritation, it was hard to tell. “So, my terrier had his own little bitch? I definitely want to know about her.”

The expression on Sherman’s face might have made another girl quake but Margot knew that it wasn’t directed at her. She understood the feeling; Edward cared for someone. If the girl could be found, it would be easier to draw Edward out of hiding, wherever he might be.

Settling into her seat, Margot closed her eyes again, letting the images come. She had plans to make regarding Edward, for when they got him back.

* * *  
The dining room was nothing short of elaborate but Ed still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to miss the man. It wasn’t like Major Alex Louis Armstrong was invisible but Major Armstrong swooped up on him like a juggernaut. Ed found himself whirling, his automail foot coming up to smash into the muscular man’s chest, holding him off. “Don’t!” he nearly screamed, remembering Stefan, Orvi and Xandor; their muscles, their greedy, clenching hands and their wet mouths.

Major Armstrong froze, his arms opened to capture Ed in one of his enthusiastic embraces, his blue gaze horrified and Ed wondered, in some portion of his mind, just what his own expression was like right then. Slowly, Armstrong pulled back, disappointment flickering across his chiseled face. He rubbed his chest, brushing at the spot where Ed had kicked him. “Edward Elric,” he said in that bluff voice, “I only wanted to welcome you back to Amestris.”

Tugging fitfully at the grey jacket he wore, Ed had to glance away. “Thanks, Major Armstrong.” He dared a look back at the huge man. “I…I do appreciate it. I just…” he petered out.

“Well, Edward, you must at least allow me to welcome you to my home.” Armstrong’s moustache quivered and Ed really hoped the big guy wasn’t going to get all mushy. He wasn’t sure he could take tears.

“That’d be great, Major,” he began but before he could get any farther, Major Armstrong whipped a broad hand into his jacket, pulling out something that looked like, “Photographs?” Ed retreated, half-terrified, thinking that surely Armstrong hadn’t gotten some poor woman pregnant, had he?

“Mrs. Hughes thought you might like to see these.” Armstrong offered the scraps of paper, maintaining a distance. When Ed seemed reluctant to accept the pictures, he set them down as he rounded the end of the table. “They were taken earlier this spring,” he said quietly, going to look out the window towards the magnificent gardens.

“Pictures.” Ed cautiously picked the pictures up, glancing at Armstrong’s back then down at what he held in his hand. It felt like his legs turned to water and he dropped the pieces of paper on the table, grabbing hard for the back of a chair. A little sound escaped him, one that hurt his throat. Ed flopped into the chair, blinking hard as he drew the photographs close again. “Al.”

The photos showed a walled garden he almost recognized; a pretty, fluffy-haired girl who’d graced so many pictures he’d seen in the past. In this frame, she was being held by a young man with amber brown eyes and sandy hair. They both smiled for the camera though a shadow lurked in the boy’s eyes. “Al,” Ed whispered again, his fingers lightly touching the reflection of his brother’s face. Setting that picture down, he looked at the next, of Al and Winry, and another of them with Elicia and Sciezca. Pinako trimmed Al’s hair in one of the pictures, obviously taken by a different camera, and Winry stared off into the distance in another, her chin resting on her hands. Ed spread them out on the table, going back to the first picture of Al. He bit his lower lip against the flood of tears that threatened to come.

He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, knowing that Alphonse had his body back but Ed hadn’t expected this – his brother, older, wiser, with a gaze that promised a steadiness that his reckless older brother had not yet achieved. Edward couldn’t quite help but think that he could easily see the man his little brother was going to be, by looking at these photos.

A surge of pride washed over him, that he’d done this, he’d lived up to his promise. His brother had his body back. Edward felt a weight lift, as if his greatest sins had been pardoned. Swallowing hard, Ed knuckled his eyes and, when they were clear, he picked up the photo of Al and Winry together. “I swear,” he said with a faint quaver to the words, “I swear I’ll come back to you.”

* * *  
The light from the rising sun drifted through the window and Winry rolled over on her bed, staring at the golden gleam in the sky. Her eyes closed against its brilliance, the realization that it would be another hot day rolling over her. The light gilded her face, highlighting her cheeks, the tips of her lashes. Blinded, she allowed herself a little dream, imagining the heat touching her skin was his touch, since Ed reminded her of the sun anyway; just as brilliant, just as distant.

“Good morning, Ed,” Winry whispered softly, the words barely loud enough for even her to hear. And in that faint morning breeze, she let herself pretend he whispered good morning back to her.

Rising, Winry spoke to Den, sleeping at the foot of her bed. The old dog blinked up at her owlishly and yawned, stretching after she got to her feet. Winry opened her bedroom door and they both walked down the stairs, the sound of their passing waking Hayate and the other dog shouldered his way out of Roy and Riza’s bedroom. The dogs preceded Winry to the door that led to the yard and, reaching it, she unlocked it to let the dogs out.

The fountain in the garden attracted hummingbirds, something that surprised Winry the first time she saw the little creatures. They buzzed anyone who got near the fountain, which was kind of funny. The arrogance of the tiny birds, coupled with their aggressiveness, reminded her of Ed, not that it didn’t take much for her to think about him. Sighing, Winry leaned against the door jam, watching the dogs. Soon, the rest of the house would be waking up and the day would start in earnest. Roy would go do…whatever it was he was doing. All Winry knew for sure was it involved contacting people and it was very hush hush. She and Al would head off to Mr. Dominic’s, meeting Paninya along the way. Paninya would take Al with her to go off and do handy work and Winry usually wouldn’t see them again until later in the day.

Winry didn’t begrudge Al that time alone with Paninya. It seemed that the other girl really liked Al and Winry wanted them both to be happy. They’d both had too much tragedy in their lives. And really, Winry was enjoying learning from Mr. Dominic and designing Ran Fan’s arm. Rubbing her hands up her own arms, Winry remembered that the surgery to install the ports would take place soon. She closed her eyes, remembering Ed’s surgery and set those memories aside carefully. Winry knew that Mr. Dominic had talked to the surgeon about her attending Ran Fan’s surgery and possibly helping, so she would be speaking to the doctor today.

Den nosed her way around the walled in garden, her tail waving in the air. Hayate dashed back and forth across the grounds, stopping to pee on anything that poked up out of the soil. Winry wondered if they missed their homes. Did Den miss scaring up rabbits to chase? Or running after the chickens? Did she miss the smells of long grass and sheep and hot summer nights? And Hayate, did he wonder what had happened to the office that he’d gone to daily, where people alternately ignored his appearance and made a big deal over him?

Folding her arms, Winry studied the garden. The walls around the garden were higher and cactus had been planted outside of it. That didn’t seem to keep Ling from bouncing over it like it was nothing, nor Al from attempting the same. His body still hadn’t come back as fast as he’d hoped but he was gaining ground quickly. Winry could almost see the changes in his body on a daily basis; from not being able to coordinate his movements all that well to suddenly being able to block a surprise attack from behind, flinging a startled Ling to the ground.

“You’d be proud, Ed,” she murmured to the sun.

Shifting her weight, Winry reached behind her to open the door, heading back inside. She’d have enough time to find something for breakfast, though eating hadn’t been high on her list of priorities for a while, and get changed to walk to Mr. Dominic’s shop. Her nose twitched as the aroma of coffee wafted through the air and Winry wondered who’d awakened first, Riza or Roy. While she drank coffee to help stay awake late at night, she didn’t particularly care for the taste. No matter who made it or how expensive the beans, it all tasted bitter to her. She preferred tea or, even better, though harder to come by, lemonade, freshly made and iced and so thickly sugared, it might be better poured over pancakes.

Heading into the kitchen, Winry lingered in the doorway. Riza sat at the table, her head resting in the palms of her hand. Her shoulders were bowed down, as if a weight crushed them. Winry opened her mouth but no words came and, rather than be caught out staring, she backed quietly out of the room. Exhausted, she slowly walked through the house, climbing the stairs to her own room.

Feeling someone staring at her, Winry turned, searching the dim hall, finally spotting Roy, folded up between the door frame of the room he shared with Riza. His eyes seemed huge in his face, lost and wide, and Winry slowly made her way to him, wondering why he’d sit in the doorway in just a pair of boxers. Roy was eating something, lifting it to his mouth, biting down hard and chewing. Winry squatted next to him, her arms resting on her knees. “Roy?” she asked tentatively.

He blinked, his gaze sliding around to meet hers then moving past to focus on something beyond her shoulder. Winry’s back prickled, hating that feeling that someone might be standing behind her but it would only be Al or Riza. Roy raised his hand to his mouth and Winry gaped as he took a bite out of a candle stick, chewing the wax absently but thoroughly. “Roy!”

Ignoring her, Roy hoisted the candle again and she slapped it out of his hand, sending it sailing into the bedroom. “Roy,” Winry said, grabbing his wrists. “Roy, wake up.”

He struggled against her grip, his face a rictus of terror and Winry wondered just what he saw. Wailing, Roy slammed back into the door frame, his skull rapping off the wood.

“Winry! Let him go.” Riza’s voice carried down the hall and Winry obeyed, scooting back as Roy kicked out suddenly, the ball of his foot connecting with her thigh. It felt like flame scorched up inside her leg and Winry rolled further away. She pressed her hand against her thigh, biting her lower lip as Riza touched her shoulder. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’ll be okay,” Winry mumbled as Alphonse came out of his room, ruffling his hair and yawning, “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Roy’s sleepwalking,” Riza said, kneeling down out of Roy’s range. “Honey?” She raised her voice. “Wake up, Roy. It’s time to wake up now.” Riza sounded more stern as she added, “Colonel! That paperwork needs to be completed before you leave for the day!”

“What?” Roy jerked, his posture becoming visibly straighter, his eyes suddenly clearing. “Yes, of course, Lieutenant, just,” blinking, Roy slowly turned his head, his mouth dropping open for a few seconds before he whispered, “resting my eyes?” He blinked at them, confused. “What’s going on here?”

“You were sleepwalking,” Riza said and even though she left it off, Winry could hear the word, ‘again’ clearly in that statement.

“I was?” Roy dropped his head back against the door frame, wincing and reaching up to touch the back of his skull. “I didn’t…do anything, did I?”

Winry forced her hand to flatten and move away from her thigh. Roy didn’t need to know, she decided, not with that miserable expression flooding his face. “You were eating a candle,” she said, wincing for him.

“Eating,” Roy stared at her for a few seconds then closed his eyes. “I thought…I thought I was in Ishbal.” His voice sounded reedy and thin, distant.

“You had to eat candles in Ishbal?” Al asked, offering a hand to Winry to pull her to her feet. He slipped his arm around her waist and Winry leaned against him, accepting the comfort.

Roy shook his head so his bangs slipped over his eyes. “No. Sometimes…we didn’t have enough to eat, though. We had to ration our food.” His nose wrinkled and he spat bits of wax into his hand. “A candle.”

Riza sighed gustily, reaching over to caress his cheek. “It’s okay, honey,” she murmured. Roy leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

Winry touched Al’s chest. “Let’s go, Al. You can show me how badly I’ve screwed up the circle for transmuting water into ice.” He nodded at the distraction and they both slipped downstairs, letting Riza have the time to soothe Roy away from his memories.

* * *


	31. Chapter 31

* * *

The room was comfortable, a little breakfast nook in soft yellows and blues that echoed the colors outside the double glass doors, currently open to let in the cool morning breeze. The herb garden lay beyond those doors, the scent of it wafting in gently. The family gathered around the table, those that were available, Alex Louis sitting across from his mother and next to his sister, Catherine; Opal sitting next to his father and across from him. A half-eaten breakfast roll rested on Opal’s plate, a strong cup of black coffee sat to the left of it. A journal lay open on the table and his cousin tapped her fingernail on it thoughtfully as she spoke.

“I believe I have convinced Maes and Edward to join us,” she said, “we just need to decide how to best use their talents.” Opal picked up her roll, breaking off a piece of it and putting it into her mouth.

“Do you have any ideas on that?” Father asked, leaning forward slightly, his moustache twitching.

Swallowing, Opal nodded. “Maes worked in Intelligence. We might as well put his talents to use, collecting information. He’d be very apt as a spy. Edward,” she paused thoughtfully. “He was damaged but could still be useful.”

Alex Louis clenched his fists under the table. He understood all too well what his cousin was saying and knew that his family would agree to this. He would be the lone voice pleading for them not to do this to the boy but in the end, his request would be overridden. He wondered if Edward Elric would listen to him, if he suggested that the boy convince Hughes to leave this evening, before they could be further wrapped into the Armstrong family plans. Alex Louis thought of Cashern, Opal’s confidant and paramour, how the man managed to be a part of all of this and yet seemed to know all too well that he could expect no true reward from the family. Opal might marry Cashern one day, Alex Louis was aware of this fact, but he also knew that it was highly unlikely, despite how Opal genuinely cared for the man. Marrying Cashern would please both of them but would not gain anything for the family and when it came down to it, Alex Louis knew, family meant more than one’s personal feelings.

“He seems skittish.” Catherine took a sip of her tea.

“Anyone who suffered what Edward did would be skittish,” Opal said, giving Catherine a veiled look. “We’re very lucky that he is functioning as well as he is.” She glanced toward Mother and Father, including Alex Louis in her gaze. “I still think he could be an asset to us.”

“The boy is hurt,” Alex Louis couldn’t help but saying. “Shouldn’t he at least be allowed a chance to heal?” He appealed to his parents. “You didn’t see the expression on his face upon the sight of the photographs of his brother, Alphonse, and Miss Rockbell.” Alex Louis shook his head gently. “I do not believe we should involve any of them.”

“Alphonse Elric,” Father said thoughtfully, stroking his moustache to clean it of crumbs, “Olivia has mentioned a communique that lists him as wanted by the military for recruitment purposes.” He raised his eyebrows. “If he’s as powerful as his brother is supposed to be, it would be advantageous to have him on our side, as well.”

Opal’s shrewd gaze rested on Alex Louis but he remained impassive, not about to give up the secrets he knew regarding the whereabouts of the youngest Elric brother and Miss Rockbell. He knew that Edward Elric would not want either of them involved and Alex Louis respected that choice. If Brigadier General Hughes had not said anything to Opal, then Alex Louis wouldn’t either.

Some loyalties, after all, went beyond one’s own family.

* * *   
“This is it.” Ling nodded at the building, a ramshackle place that reminded Roy of Ishbal all over again. The wooden building looked like it had been put up in a hurry and that it was still standing, Roy thought, was more to the fact that buildings bolstered it on either side. Some of the shingles hung precariously over the edge of the roof, making him loathe to step under them. The steps creaked and popped as he set foot on them to climb. He hoped he wouldn’t sink through the wood. Two men lounged on the porch in the rocking chairs set there, mechanics, from the look of their brawn and the rags tied around their heads. Neither paid any attention to him or to Ling as they made their way inside the tavern.

Roy wasn’t quite sure what he’d expected to find in a bar called ‘Shifty’s’ but not this, in particular, not the hardened men and women who barely glanced his way when he came through the door, dressed in colorful Xing clothing. Maybe some sort of reaction, he thought, would’ve been nice, despite the pleasant feeling that anonymity had. Deciding that he really didn’t care, Roy took a seat at the bar, close enough to the door he could see someone coming through it, far enough away that the light of the afternoon sun wouldn’t catch him in its beam.

Ling straddled the stool next to him, that perpetual grin on his face. He glanced around the interior of the bar with a quizzical air, his nose twitching. “Do they serve food?” he asked plaintively.

“Maybe?” Roy shrugged. He didn’t see a menu on the board, just a listing of the alcohol, but that didn’t mean that food wasn’t available. He personally wasn’t sure he wanted to eat anything that might come out of the kitchen. He was sure that was a spider nearly as big as his fist lurking in the shadows above the door at the back of the tavern. And the décor, such as it was, included a stuffed rabbit with antlers attached to its head, a stuffed snake, coiled up and ready to strike and a dusty cavalry sword, complete with what looked to be a very blood-stained tassel. “It’s your stomach, if you want to try the food.” Alcohol, Roy knew, at least could be considered mostly sterile and sterilizing on its own.

Ling, appearing fascinated by the rabbit-deer thing, nodded absently. “Do you think that animal was actually alive at one point?”

A guffaw of laughter answered him and Roy and Ling both turned to the person making the sound. The woman was smaller than Roy had expected from such a hearty laugh, a delicate, busty brunette with an apron wrapped tight enough to enhance her curves. She was missing an eyetooth, Roy noted, but for some reason, that added to her appearance, rather than detracting. He was sure the woman had a story for that missing tooth, probably more than one, to be taken out and told as necessary. “That,” she said, leaning her elbows on the counter behind the bar, so her bosom was almost on level with their eyes, “is what happens when a coupla alchemists decided to play around with the jackrabbits and antelopes and mate the offspring.” The derisive glint in her eyes warned Roy that alchemists were not necessarily welcome here.

Ling’s eyebrows shot for his bangs. “It’s real?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Roy muttered to the boy. “Whiskey,” he said, tapping the bar top, surprised at the cool stone that, when he looked closer, revealed itself to be marble. His frown didn’t go unnoticed by the woman, whose smile took on a secretive tilt.

“Whiskey,” she said, her voice low and husky, completely in character with her voluptuous figure, “and how does a Xing traveler know of whiskey?”

Echoing the barkeep’s secretive smile, Roy said, “Traders know many of the best things.”

She laughed again, reaching for a bottle under the counter of the bar and popping the cork to pour a generous glass, sliding it across the marble top to Roy. “Anything for your son?”

Ling opened his mouth but Roy interrupted before he had a chance to speak. “By your laws, he’s not old enough to drink yet.” He sipped at the whiskey, the liquor burning down his throat, ignoring Ling’s sputtering.

It didn’t take long for Roy to feel comfortable inside the tavern, lost in the anonymity of being just another patron. Ling slouched on his stool, accepting the drink that the barkeep passed over to him, chewing on his straw hungrily, and though he seemed lax and unconcerned, Roy could read the thread of tension running through the boy, the way his eyes shifted whenever the door opened. Conversations eddied and twirled around them and Roy sifted through them the way Maes had taught him to back when they were kids, listening for particular words and phrases, hints of unrest and disquiet. He knew that he and the boy were being surveyed, judged, and let it go, on this first trip. It would take time, it always took time, but Roy felt no impatience regarding that. Time was something he had a lot of right now and he figured he might as well put it to good use.

Finishing his drink, he laid out a number of sens on the counter for the barkeep, including a tip that was neither too large nor too small. It would not do for someone to think that he was rich and want to take advantage of that and he also didn’t want to be considered miserly. As he touched Ling’s shoulder, bringing the boy back into conscious wakefulness, a word caught Roy’s ear and he gently pushed Ling back down as the boy started to stand. He turned on his stool, studying the crowd thoughtfully, letting them know that he was observing and letting them fully observe him in turn. “Did you say ‘alchemist’?” Roy asked politely, letting the words fall in the sing-song cadence of his youth, when his grandfather insisted that he speak Xing so as to not lose touch with his heritage.

One of the women, not nearly as attractive as the barkeep but still handsome, in a careworn way, eyed Roy and Ling back. “Yeah,” she said, “what of it?”

“My son is curious about the alchemists,” Roy rolled his eyes in the classic, ‘children!’ way, “and I heard you use the word.” He made a politely curious face. “Are you an alchemist yourself, madam?”

“Sally, an alchemist!”

She snorted loudly, a few of the other patrons laughing with her. One of them slapped her familiarly on the back. “Naw,” she said, “I’m a mechanic.” Sally gave Roy a once-over. “You wouldn’t be looking for some automail, would you?”

“Oh, no, madam.” Roy showed his teeth in a pretty smile. “I feel better suited to life with my own limbs.” He leaned forward slightly, gesturing at her, making his jacket sleeve flutter and swing, “But you were talking about an alchemist?”

“Yeah.” Sally’s face lost some of its rough humor. “A brat kid, the Fullmetal alchemist. One of those State alchemists.” Roy thought she might spit on the floor to rid herself of the taste of the words in her mouth. “He tore through Rush Valley a few months back, destroying everything in sight.”

“Did fix the stuff he fucked up,” one of the other patrons, a black man, said thoughtfully.

“But he made it all weird.” Sally pulled a long face. “Put these…things. Faces and chains and things with wings.”

Roy thought it sounded exactly like Fullmetal. “Is he here now?” he asked, finding it hard to make an interested face when he knew the answer.

“Nah.” The black man shook his head. He frowned a little, his graying eyebrows knitting together. “There was word outta Central that he died somewhere but then there’s something that says he’s been spotted in Lior.” He raised a newspaper, waving it in the air. “I’d say, if he died, good riddance.”

“You’d say that, about someone in your military?” Ling asked curiously.

“Too much power,” Sally said, shaking her head, “alchemists have. Think they’re gods.” Her eyes narrowed to slits and her lips skinned back from her teeth. “They’re dangerous, young man, and you should keep your distance.”

“I will remember that,” Ling said, shooting Roy a glance he couldn’t read.

“We both will,” Roy said, wondering how far the word of Edward’s appearance in Lior might’ve gotten. Alphonse and Winry might decide they had to check it out, if they heard about it, and Roy didn’t doubt that it wouldn’t be Ed waiting for them. As far out of the way as Lior was, Roy was certain that the military would be stationed there, and any unusual visitors would be brought back to Central. “Thank you for your time, madam, gentlemen.” Rising from his stool, he gave a short, polite bow, thanking the barkeep one last time. In the Xingese tongue, he said, _“Come along, son,”_ to Ling, who gave him another of those inscrutable looks but followed him out the door.

_“What is it?”_ Ling asked after they’d walked nearly a block from the bar. Roy was pleased that the boy continued speaking in his native tongue. It would make it more difficult for someone spying on them to understand, theoretically.

_“Fullmetal sighted in Lior?”_ Roy kept his voice low, trying to keep from obviously looking over his shoulder. Being followed back to the house was not part of his plans. _“There are two people who’d find that very interesting.”_ He touched Ling’s shoulder lightly. _“Maybe you should make sure they’re still where they’re supposed to be.”_

Ling nodded. _“And if they aren’t?”_

Roy’s face went grim for an instant. _ “We need to find them immediately.”_ Ling nodded, running off through the mobs of people that seemed to make up Rush Valley, leaving Roy to follow in his wake. He didn’t want to think that Alphonse would be as reckless as his older brother but Roy didn’t know Winry as well as he knew Alphonse. She was brave and sometimes, bravery led to foolishness, if there was no wisdom to back it up or too much sorrow for clear thinking.

The thought that maybe Edward wasn’t dead had crossed Roy’s mind in the past but he wasn’t about to bring it up to his family. Without his automail limbs, Ed wouldn’t have been able to get very far and he and his men had scoured the area where they’d found Alphonse. The clean up crews that came afterwards had done an even more thorough job. If Edward was in Lior, he would’ve been found. Roy sighed softly, closing his eyes briefly against the setting sun before him. He was sure that Edward had sacrificed himself to bring his brother’s body back and that was that.

He just hoped he didn’t have to go over that again with Winry and Alphonse.

* * *

Alphonse watched Winry lay a cool cloth on Ran Fan’s forehead and leaned back from the doorway, closing his eyes. He hadn’t been able to remain in the surgery room when Edward had had his automail ports installed. Neither Rockbell thought it would be a good idea, so he’d gone outside with Den, pretending that what happened inside the house wasn’t of any concern to him. He’d wound up standing next to the house, near the window of the surgery room, listening and trying to figure out what was going on by what Pinako and Winry had been saying to each other.

Now, Alphonse was almost happy he hadn’t been invited to watch. A part of him shuddered at the idea that his brother had gone through this ordeal at the age of eleven. Al wasn’t sure he’d want to go through it, even now. “The things Brother did for me,” he murmured to himself.

“Hey, Dan?” Paninya touched his shoulder and Al turned to the young woman, noting her skin had taken a grey cast to it. “Maybe you and I should go for a little walk, okay?” She refused to look in the next room, purposefully turning her face away.

“Yeah, okay.” Al hesitated long enough to tell Winry they were going, remembering at the last instant to use her new name. She glanced over her shoulder and Al felt relieved when she waved him off.

Outside, in the hot air, Paninya took a deep breath, stretching her arms out in front of her then wrapping them around herself. “I can’t stand the sight of blood,” she said, shuddering. “Maybe because of my parents or losing my legs and arm. But I can’t stand it.” She glanced up at Al. “What about you?”

He hesitated but Paninya had met Edward. “Brother lost his left leg and right arm in an accident,” he said softly, “and I had to carry him to,” Al hooked a thumb over his shoulder, “so he wouldn’t bleed to death.”

Eyes wide, Paninya turned her attention to the street ahead of them. “Oh,” she said after some time and Al noticed her coloring still seemed muddied and strange. Paninya shuddered once, her face scrunching up. “I don’t know if I could’ve done that.”

Al had nothing to say to that, wasn’t even sure what he could say. He’d had no choice if he’d wanted Ed to live but remembered that Paninya had been a little girl when she’d lost her limbs in the train accident. What child that young would’ve reacted any other way? Curling his mouth into a smile that felt more genuine once he tried it on, Al patted Paninya’s shoulder. “You could’ve,” he told her warmly and was rewarded by a surprised little grin to answer his own.

* * *  
“So, tell me something about yourself, Rose.” Hohenheim settled himself as comfortably as he could in the metal chair outside the little café. “Tell me how you came to Central.”

The young woman blinked thoughtfully, glancing down at her baby. “Well,” she said hesitantly, a blend of emotions moving across her face, almost too quickly for Hohenheim to read.

Still, he was a student of expressions, regret being one of his most common, and he waited her out, not putting any additional pressure on Rose while she considered what to tell him. While she thought, he sipped his coffee, thinking it really was too warm out to be enjoying a hot drink, but he’d ordered it as a force of habit, the same way he’d ordered the girl across from him food and a drink. Hohenheim kept the thought to himself that she seemed far too thin to be able to feed a baby.

“I’m from Lior,” Rose said finally, a tentative note to her voice. She glanced at Hohenheim from under her bangs, the pink fringe at the end of them showing where the dye job was growing out. Hohenheim made an agreeable sound, gesturing for her to continue. “Do you know what happened there?”

“Only what I’ve read in reports.” He didn’t bother saying the reports came from the Fuhrer himself. Rose wouldn’t understand. Very few people ever would.

Rose busied herself first with the baby then took a bite of her food and a sip of her drink before going on. Hohenheim caught a shimmer in her eyes as she glanced around the nearly-empty café, the setting sun painting everything in shades of rosy orange. “A State Alchemist came to my city,” she said softly. As if picking up on her distress, her baby let out a querulous little wail and Rose jiggled him soothingly, nuzzling his hair.

“Would you like me to hold him so you can eat?” Hohenheim asked, reaching across the table. Rose’s eyes widened in surprise but at Hohenheim’s encouraging smile, she passed over her child, folding her arms around herself for a few seconds afterwards, as if unsure what to do with them without a baby to hold. Hohenheim gave her time to adjust, rocking the little boy and making the appropriate cooing noises. He always forgot how tiny children were, how fragile. This one was bold, reminding Hohenheim of his own sons, waving his chubby hands up and running soft fingers over the golden beard in front of his face. The little boy chortled and Hohenheim was startled into an answering smile.

“You’re good with children,” Rose said in surprise and Hohenheim shook his head.

“Just when they’re this age, I’m afraid. Once they start to crawl,” he let his voice trail off.

Covering her mouth with her fingers, Rose let out a soft chuckle. “Still,” she said, “if I ever need someone to watch him, I’m bringing him to you.”

“Does that mean you’ve found work?” Hohenheim glanced at her out of the corner of his eye.

“There’s a tavern,” Rose said quietly, playing with her glass, “the Black Horse. It’s a military tavern but the owner says the men behave themselves. She doesn’t mind if I bring my baby and leave him in the back room, she said, as long as I can keep up with the duties.” Her mouth compressed to a thin line. “I’m not sure I can do it but,” Rose’s free hand clenched into a fist, “I need to do something. I can’t keep accepting your charity.”

“My dear, I have plenty of money and no one to spend it on.” Hohenheim gave her a reassuring smile. “Take your time.” He played with the baby until Rose got herself under control and had eaten a few more bites of her chicken and noodles dish. Taking care not to look at her directly, Hohenheim said, “You said a State Alchemist came to Lior. What happened then?”

Licking her lips nervously, Rose sat back from the table. She blinked a few times, finally saying, “He challenged our leader, Father Cornello. But before that, Mr. Hohenheim, Father Cornello was a savior to Lior. He brought us the teachings of Leto and showed us how to live our lives. We were blessed. Father Cornello could turn water into wine; flowers into birds.” She swallowed hard, turning her face partially away from Hohenheim’s knowing gaze.

Alchemy, he thought, and tried to remember who might’ve seeded the desert with a priest and a red stone. Rose was still speaking though and he turned his attention back to her.

“The State Alchemist, he proved that Father Cornello was a liar.” Her breath caught at that. “He…he showed me what happened when someone went beyond the mortal realm and stepped into the gods’ own world.” Head coming up, a beatific expression settled over her face and Rose unconscious clasped her hands together, almost as if in prayer. “He was like a god himself,” pink tinged her tanned cheeks, making her seem younger than she was, “more temperamental, maybe, but.” Rose lost herself in her memories for a bit and Hohenheim wondered if she did this often. He recognized lovesickness when he saw it, though it had been years since he’d experienced it himself. Trisha, he thought, though Hohenheim didn’t allow himself to remember his wife long.

“You must have cared for that alchemist very much.” Hohenheim attempted to call Rose back to the present with his statement and was rewarded when the girl turned to him, surprise written on her face.

“I,” she began, dry washing her hands in front of her chest, “he,” Rose shook her head, making her bangs fly.

“Is he the father of your baby?” Hohenheim smiled like an indulgent father. “Don’t worry, I won’t think badly of you. I didn’t marry my sons’ mother, either.”

It seemed Rose’s eyes would swallow her face at that. Nodding jerkily, the stiffness in her features warmed into a little smile, tears coming to her eyes. “Y-yes. He is. He-he doesn’t know, not yet. I haven’t found him to tell him. But…I thought he might be in Central somewhere.”

“Maybe I could help you,” Hohenheim said, rearranging his position in the uncomfortable chair. “Tell me about him.” As if he wanted to know more about his father, the baby burbled, hands waving excitedly.

Rose lowered her head, bangs shielding part of her face. Her cheeks were still colored prettily. “He’s young, a little younger than me, but so handsome.” She spoke more to her plate than to Hohenheim. “He doesn’t look like a military man, not really, but there’s something about him that makes people look at him.” A dreamy smile lit her face as she raised her head. “He shone bright as the sun, even brighter than Father Cornello, and his name is Edward Elric.”

* * *  
“…and those are our plans.” Opal settled back into the comfortable chair, picking up her cup from the table beside her and taking a sip from it. She studied them both over the rim of the cup.

Maes didn’t have to glance sideways at Ed to realize the boy was thunderstruck at the idea. He knew, too, that Opal and the Armstrong family weren’t sharing everything. He didn’t fault them for that, after all, either he or Ed could walk out of this house and destroy the Armstrong name with just a few words in the proper ears. Somehow, Maes thought they wouldn’t live long enough to do that, despite how much Alex Louis genuinely cared for them. Maes picked up his cup, taking a long drink from it and letting out a satisfied sigh. The coffee, like everything else in the estate, was superb. A young woman filled the cup again and offered him cream and sugar, which he turned down, while the Armstrong family waited for a response.

“Let me get this straight,” Maes said, setting aside the cup to allow the coffee to cool, “You want Ed and me to help you overthrow the current government?”

“That’s impossible,” Ed said, his brows beetling down. He shifted his position on the sofa, glancing back as the maid crossed behind them. “I mean, there’s a whole army, or did you forget? Not to mention alchemists.”

“Which is why this has to be done subtly,” Opal said.

Her uncle, a gruff looking man with a moustache that put Alex Louis’ to shame, cleared his throat. “This has been in the works for years, my boy.”

If anything, Ed’s expression became more disturbed and he shot a look at Maes before managing to school his face into something less telling. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Then why haven’t you acted before?”

Alex Louis bowed his head. “Part of that fault lies with me. Because I was unable to separate my emotions from what happened on the battlefield in Ishbal, I created a setback.”

Maes translated that to mean, because Alex Louis hadn’t shown himself to be a cold-hearted killer, his family had no real use for him. He hoped it wasn’t true but he’d seen before what happened to children who didn’t live up to family expectations. Suddenly wanting very much to see his daughter, Maes folded his arms. “And you want us to join your little crusade why, again?”

“You were in investigations and you have to ask?” Opal touched her chin in that particular manner of hers. “And who hasn’t heard of Edward, here?”

“Those are questions rather than answers,” Ed said, shifting his position a little. “I mean, you want to use me for my alchemy, right?” He didn’t wait for an answer but bulled on, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. “You want Hughes for his information. And now that we know what you know, if we don’t go along with it, what happens? Are you going to kill us?”

“I personally don’t think you’d be a threat to us, either of you,” Opal said softly though there was a hint of something flashing through her eyes and Maes wished he could’ve gotten a better glimpse of it. “After all, you’d both be returning from the dead in remarkably similar situations.” A somber expression on her face, she glanced at her aunt and uncle, at Alex Louis, at the delicate girl, Catherine, who, amazingly enough, was Alex Louis’ sister. “That never goes over well,” she said and Maes was reminded again that Opal Armstrong was an alchemist and might know more about the things he’d seen in Central HQ than anyone. Still, Maes wasn’t about to just blurt out what he knew. He’d play these cards close to the vest. “Someone wanted both of you out of the way. Someone would probably pay dearly to keep you out of the way. I’d rather have you alive and working for us.”

Alex Louis folded his hands together, speaking slowly. “I would be honored, Brigadier General Hughes; Edward Elric, if you both would join us in our endeavor,” and Maes translated that to mean, ‘please don’t make us have to kill you.’

“So, what happens if, say, we win this crazy thing?” Ed leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I really don’t want to be a part of the military any more. I only joined it to get access to the libraries. I’ve done that. I don’t need that information any more.” Maes knew what Ed meant, having heard about Alphonse from Gracia. He wondered if Alex Louis had mentioned that to his family. Would they be having this conversation with Edward if he had?

“We’re working to change the government, my boy,” Mr. Armstrong said, moustache quivering as he spoke. “For the better.”

“Yeah?” Edward’s eyebrows arched. “What kind of better are we talking about?”

“Instead of the benevolent,” and here, Opal made a little cough, “dictatorship we have currently, we would like to establish a true democracy.”

Was that the party line, Maes wondered, or the truth? Would Ed even understand? Before he could say anything Mrs. Armstrong spoke up, her voice amazingly mellow for a woman with such a stern appearance. “Major Elric,” she said, “we are working for the betterment of our country. We want peace with our neighbors, not constant warfare. I, for one, do not want my future grandchildren threatened by continuous war.”

Ed turned his head slightly, avoiding the adults. Maes said nothing, not wanting to influence the boy. Hell, he’d rather send him right back to Rush Valley now, before letting him get tangled up in this mess. “I want to think about it,” Ed said finally, still staring firmly at his knee. “Before I commit to anything.”

“That’s understandable,” Opal said gently and Maes picked up his coffee, using that movement to glance her way. She actually did have a concerned expression on her face. “You’ve been through a great deal lately, Edward, and I don’t want you to make a decision without considering it from all angles.”

Nodding jerkily, Edward pushed up out of the sofa. “Does that mean I can go now?” He glanced at them all but his gaze lingered for a second on Maes, waiting for the approval. When Maes dipped his chin, Ed moved toward the door, disappearing through it.

“That poor boy,” Mrs. Armstrong said, her eyes following Edward out the door.

Privately, Maes agreed but right now wasn’t the time. Leaning forward, unconsciously copying Ed’s position with his elbows on his knees, he smiled wolfishly at the Armstrong family. “Now that the kid’s out of the way, let’s cut to the chase. How do you specifically want to use us?”

It was far too gratifying, he thought, watching the surprise bloom on their faces.

* * *


	32. Chapter 32

* * *

Winry blanched at the news that Edward Elric had been sighted in Lior. “What do you mean?” she asked, her fork falling into her plate.

Roy met her wide-eyed stare. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he said finally. “I don’t think it has anything to do with Edward.”

Alphonse frowned a little, stirring the food on his plate absently then giving up the pretense altogether. “Sir, what if it does?” He saw Winry’s emphatic nod out of the corner of his eye. “How do we know it’s not the truth?”

“Why would they use Ed’s name like that?” Winry blurted out almost at the same time, her forearms corded and trembling.

“Because,” Riza said, “it’s a fishing expedition.” Her expression gentled as Winry scowled and Al turned to her. “Don’t you see? It’s an attempt to lure people, us, out of hiding. If we go, if any of us goes there to investigate,” she shook her head deliberately. “The chances are, that person would not return.”

“They want a reaction.” Roy pressed the napkin to his mouth and set it aside. “Don’t you understand? ‘Fullmetal Alchemist sighted in Lior.’ It’s what we want to hear, even if we may not believe it to be true. It is the last place Edward was seen, therefore, there could be a possibility, correct?” His dark eyes snapped from Winry to Al, who nodded. “But it’s simply a trick to lure you to an unpopulated area. Alphonse, I don’t know what they want with you, I could guess and I’d hope that I was wrong.” Roy’s mouth turned down and he gestured at Winry. “I do know what they’d want with you, Winry. We’ve had this discussion before; you’d be a tool to keep Alphonse in line. You understand that?”

Nodding grudgingly, Winry picked up her napkin, twisting it between her hands. “But what if there’s a chance Ed is there? He won’t be able to find us.”

Riza reached over, laying a hand on Winry’s shoulder. “There are people who know where we are, Winry. Think. But if we run headlong into this, we’ll be doing exactly what they want us to do. It’s a trap, one baited very pleasantly, or cruelly, if you think about it, that someone would use Edward’s name in an attempt to lure us out.” She included Al in her warm regard. “We’re more clever than that, aren’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Al said, albeit reluctantly. He wanted to walk out of the room, straight down to the train station and start the journey to Lior but he knew that Riza and Roy were right. It was all a trap, a trick, and his brother’s good name was being used by people who had no right to do so. A part of him felt nothing but fury at the pain those people were putting him and Winry through and he had to drop his hands under the table to hide their shaking.

Across from him, Winry sniffed hard, pushing back in her chair. “Excuse me,” she said brokenly and walked out of the room.

Roy sighed softly, starting to rise but Alphonse shook his head. “I’ll talk to her, sir.” With a weak smile, Al told Riza, “Thank you for dinner. I’ll clean up later.”

She waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it, Alphonse. Take care of Winry. Roy and I can handle the dishes.”

At his side, Den whined, nudging his elbow with her blunt muzzle. He petted her absently, thinking with all the food going to waste, the dogs would eat well tonight. “Thanks, Riza.” Al felt like he should say something else but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he left the adults at the table, hoping that Winry would be in her room.

When he didn’t find her there, Al climbed up the steep stairs – almost like a ladder – that led to the roof. Pushing open the door hatch, Al poked his head out, climbing the rest of the way onto the roof when he spotted Winry. She sat on the low wall, her arms clasped around her bended knees. Al moved to join her, settling next to her feet, not looking out over Rush Valley but back toward the doorway. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say but the words that came out, “I want to go to Lior, too,” were not what Al expected to say.

Winry leaned forward, clutching his shoulder. “Can we?” she asked then her hand fell away, her mouth twisting into something resembling a smile, only not really. “I know we can’t,” she mumbled, her gaze lowering, that faint light of hope dying in her eyes. “I know it’s a trap. I knew that when Roy told us.” Even here, on the roof, she lowered her voice when she spoke Mustang’s name. “But,” she sighed.

“But you want to think Brother’s alive.” Al caught her hand, giving it a squeeze. “I do, too, Winry. I want to think that so badly.” It hurt so much, he could barely stand it. He’d expected to get his body back and that Edward would be healed and whole, too, not lost forever. That wasn’t the promise they’d made to each other.

“Is it wrong to want to think that?” Winry’s question barely carried to him, despite their closeness. “Is it wrong to think that maybe he’s out there?” She shook her head, almost violently, bowing it so her forehead touched her bent knees. “I know it is, Al. I know I have to give him up.” Unspoken between them were the words, ‘but I don’t want to.’

Al tugged at her hand and Winry shifted her position so her shoulder pressed into his. He twined their fingers together, staring down at their joined hands. “Winry, it hurts so much. If I didn’t have you, I don’t know what,” Al sighed, the sentence fading. He knew Winry felt the same way; it really wasn’t necessary to say it. I want, I wish; those phrases clung to the roof of his mouth, ready to drop out at any time, only held back because Al knew how much pain they’d cause to say them out loud. He had to keep them inside, where he knew they’d fester. To actually say them, though, would hurt even worse.

“We just have to keep going.” Winry didn’t smile though the corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “Keep moving forward. We can’t look back, can we?”

“No.” Al thought the single word sounded hollow by itself but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Because,” Winry said, almost brightly, and Al wondered how much that cost her, “Ed would’ve wanted it that way.”

“Yeah.” Nodding, Al gave her fingers a squeeze. “Yeah, he would’ve. We…you know, a person’s…death, I mean, even though there are other people who miss that one person, it doesn’t really mean a lot, I mean, there are people who’ll miss that one person but the people who never knew Ed,” his breath caught slightly at the mention of his brother’s name but Al persevered, “they aren’t affected by his dying at all. Just us, because we knew him. ‘All is one, one is all.’”

Winry nodded though Al wasn’t sure she’d been listening or even understood what he was trying to say to her. Al wasn’t even sure if he understood his explanation, only that saying the words helped, at least a little bit. He wondered, suddenly, what Teacher would say when she found out that Edward was gone; that he’d sacrificed his own life to make sure his little brother lived. Would she be proud of him or would she think that her eldest student was an idiot? Al almost hoped he’d never have to find out but the ache in his chest told him that he’d want to know, that he’d want to see Izumi. He wanted to cry on her shoulder and feel her arms around him, the way he couldn’t when she scolded them for their attempts at human transformation. He wanted to hear her say that it was okay to miss his big brother, that Edward didn’t do something absolutely stupid when he worked the alchemy to reconnect his soul with his body, even if Al thought that himself. I’m not worth it, he thought, not if it means Ed losing his life. But he couldn’t say that to anyone; not to Roy nor Riza and particularly not Winry, not when Ed took that choice away from him.

Al had already asked Winry, after all, if she regretted the choice Ed had made and she’d told him that she didn’t. It didn’t stop him from wondering if she wished that maybe Edward was here with her rather than him. He hated those thoughts but they came whether he wanted them to or not. Al wanted to ask Winry, wanted to make her answer him but something in him knew that whatever answer she gave, it would cut like a knife. He knew that Winry and his brother had had a special bond; something just between them that he’d never really been a part of and it wasn’t just because Winry had designed Ed’s automail. He’d been jealous of it when he was younger; that was why he’d been so determined to win the fight over who Winry would marry when they were all older. If he won Winry, that meant he could still have them both. But if Edward had won the fight, then he would lose so much more than just Winry’s friendship.

It was funny the thoughts that went through your mind when you were a kid, Al decided, remembering all too well how he’d felt when Winry turned him down, even though he’d won the fight. He wondered if she knew just how much it had hurt, not just him but Ed, too, when she said she wouldn’t marry either of them. Now, he could almost look back on it and laugh, or know that some day, he’d be able to.

“Winry,” and the words, ‘I wish,’ clogged in Al’s throat. He couldn’t get them out, felt as if they were stuck inside of him, spikes holding them in place so they couldn’t escape. Everything he wanted to say was caught behind those words, like water behind a dam. Al squeezed his eyes closed, turning to Winry and pulling her close, his head landing on her shoulder heavily. The tremor that ran through him shook them both and Al couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying.

“Al.” Winry embraced him tightly, rubbing his back. “It’ll be,” she paused, groping for words that would comfort, offer strength, “we’ll be okay, won’t we?”

He wished he had an answer for her.

* * *

“Edward?”

He turned at the sound of his name, a smile coming slow but steady at the sight of her. “Mrs. Hughes.”

“Gracia, Ed,” she told him, her own smile warming him like a gentle fire. Holding out her hand, she beckoned him closer. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you and I’d like that.”

Edward trailed after her, into the hothouse garden. The scent of forced flowers perfumed the air, joined by the sweet tang of citrus. The glassed in building was massive, more proof of the Armstrong family’s money. He found himself gaping at an orange tree, the sight of those expensive fruits making his mouth water.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Gracia gently stroked the petal of a purple flower, the rich hue reminding Ed of a stormy night.

“Yeah, I mean,” Ed shrugged, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “It seems…I don’t know, like a lot of work, making flowers bloom out of season.” He couldn’t even recognize most of the plants, not that he really paid much attention to them. Flowers were more Al’s thing, flowers and kittens and Ed reminded himself he didn’t really want to be thinking of Al right now.

“Shhh, look.” Gracia nodded down one of the paths, pointing out a familiar red head. Victoria knelt in the dark soil of the greenhouse, an alchemic array laid out in front of her. She touched it and the electric blue sparkle of a transmutation brightened the air in front of her. A green shoot appeared, then another, and suddenly, they seemed to explode out of the ground. Victoria sank back on her haunches, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “Amazing,” Gracia said, her voice low.

Ed didn’t say anything though his mouth twisted just a bit. He thought there could be better uses for Victoria’s alchemy than growing flowers but it wasn’t really his place to say anything. Maybe working on corn or wheat, something that could grow in the desert, or working on an insect-resistant potato. Al would’ve been fascinated by her talent, Ed knew that much. “Yeah,” he said noncommittally, taking a step back. He really didn’t want Victoria seeing him. He didn’t like the way her eyes followed him whenever they were in the same room together. It made him feel like he was on display again and Ed hated it.

As if she sensed his discomfort, Gracia turned away from Victoria, taking another of the paths set out through the greenhouse. Ed followed her, scuffing his boots through the soft loam flooring. He nearly ran into Gracia when she stopped, windmilling his arms to keep his balance. “This is nice, isn’t it?” Gracia glanced back at him, grabbing for his arm to keep him upright. “Ed, careful!”

“Yeah, uh,” he felt his cheeks heat up, shuffling his feet. He managed to not jerk free from Gracia’s hold but only just, tugging slightly then giving up when she kept a firm hold on his arm. He couldn’t quite look up into her face, afraid of what he might see. Ed allowed Gracia to lead him to the little bench seat beneath a flowering tree and sat down cautiously next to the woman. Only then did she release his arm, giving him another of those warm smiles.

“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you, Edward.” Ed couldn’t miss the worried tone underlying the delight in her words.

“Um, thanks.” Ed glanced at the ground under the toes of his boots. “I wanted to tell you thanks for the pictures, Mrs. Hughes.”

“Gracia,” she repeated gently, “and I’m glad you liked them.” Leaning into the bench back, Gracia studied the garden in front of them. “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it? That Alphonse is back. He’s a little weak still; or he was.” As if she knew the news that Ed most wanted to hear, Gracia explained how Al, Winry and Pinako had stayed with her in Central. “Elicia still misses them.”

“I’ll bet she misses Hughes, too,” Ed muttered, scuffing his boot over the ground.

“She does,” Gracia admitted. “I do, too. But if he returned from the dead now, it’d be more of a problem than a solution. I understand why Maes is doing it.” Gracia reached over, gently brushing Ed’s red bangs off his forehead. “He’s protecting Elicia and me.” She seemed about to go on then shook her head slightly. “But you don’t have to protect anyone, Ed.”

He shied away from that, lunging off the bench. “I do,” he growled then lowered his voice, not wanting to alert anyone of this talk, particularly Victoria. “Why doesn’t anyone see?”

“Ed,” Gracia shifted her position on the bench slightly, facing him. “Al and Winry are hiding out already, in Rush Valley. They can’t use their real names.”

“Huh?” Confusion threatened to swamp him and Ed remembered, suddenly, that Hawkeye had dyed her hair. He’d recognized her voice, her stance, and then realized that her hair was different, short and brownish red, not long and blond. Hawkeye was with Al and Winry, Hughes had said that, or maybe that Xing guy had, Ed wasn’t quite sure which. And so was that bastard, Mustang. “What do you mean?” He felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach. Al and Winry were hiding? Why?

Her mouth tightening, Gracia lowered her eyes for a few seconds. “Ed,” she said quietly, “Pinako Rockbell was a very clever woman. I think Maes would’ve liked her, very much. She thought that it would be safest if Al and Winry went into hiding, so the military wouldn’t be able to use them.”

“Use them?” Ed felt stupid, like he couldn’t quite understand what Mrs. Hughes was trying to tell him. “What do you mean?”

“The Fuhrer himself asked Al to join the military at your funeral. And,” Gracia raised her gaze, staring into Ed’s eyes, “he has a homunculus as his aide, Juliet Douglas. Alphonse said that she looked exactly like your mother.”

Staggering back, Ed fought the dizzy spell that seemed to wash over him. He tried to swallow air past the blockage in his throat, blink his way past the dots in his vision. “Damn it.” Bending over, he placed his hands on his knees, shaking his head, trying to clear it. “Damn it!” He slammed his metal fist into his thigh, the pain helping him concentrate enough to realize that Gracia had his shoulders, was trying to push him upright again. Ed shuddered out of her grip, taking a few steps away. He nearly fell over a bush but caught his balance, swaying like a newborn lamb as he tried to take in the implications of what Gracia had just said.

Who else might’ve sent him to Creata? The Homunculi? Would they have done that to get him out of the way? Would Sloth, that thing that wore his mother’s face, have dragged him all the way across Amestris to Creata without someone telling her to do that? Ed remembered hearing her laughter, the way she’d touched him while he’d remained blindfolded. He remembered coming out of the fog of drugs to hear strange voices, of begging for help and none being given. If someone had stopped and actually listened – no, no, Ed shook his head, knowing he couldn’t give in to that thought. Edward gasped and choked, shivering even in the heated air. “Damn it,” he got out, clutching his stomach, trying to keep it under control. Sniffing hard, he managed to straighten up, taking a few tottering steps. His head whirled and he could hear Mrs. Hughes calling his name softly. Ed waved to let her know he’d be all right, hoping it was true.

A few more minutes passed before Ed got himself under control. He swiped at his eyes, not looking at the woman nearby, hoping that Victoria hadn’t somehow managed to come across them. He hated the feeling of eyes on him, hated people watching. It made his skin twitch and jerk, that prickly feeling. Taking a few deep breaths to clear his lungs, Ed slowly faced Mrs. Hughes. Her face seemed pale but she smiled in reassurance when he looked at her. “Sorry,” Ed croaked out.

“I’m the one who should apologize.” She patted the bench seat and Ed slowly moved to it, dropping heavily next to her. “Ed, do you understand what I was telling you?”

“That the Fuhrer’s aide is a homunculus. Yeah,” he said dully, “I mean, yes, ma’am.” Ed pressed his metal hand against his eyes, the cool metal feeling good against the headache that threatened. “So Granny sent Al and Winry into hiding,” he mumbled, thinking it made too much sense, though he wished that maybe they’d gone somewhere other than Rush Valley. Anyone who knew Winry would know she was nuts for machines.

“And she requested an inquisition into your death,” Gracia said gently, “which meant that Roy was court martialed.”

“Huh?” That brought his attention back from the narrow streets of Rush Valley with a jolt. “What do you mean?”

“Roy was accused of actions not becoming an Amestrian officer,” Gracia said quietly, “so he was relieved of his duties. He and Riza left Central so they could protect Al and Winry.”

To Ed, it felt like his brain simply froze. Mustang protecting his little brother and best friend? He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it. It just seemed weird, more than weird, ridiculous. That was his job, keeping Al and Winry safe, and Ed almost opened his mouth to say so when he realized where he was, who he was with, why he was here.

“He and Riza have taken on new names, too, and disguises.” Gracia folded her hands in her lap. “Winry and Al are pretending to be Riza’s siblings and Roy is her husband.”

“Bastard finally got lucky, huh?” The words blurted out before Ed had a chance to censor them. He caught Gracia’s frown and ducked his head in apology.

“Edward,” she said quietly but firm enough that he knew he had to look at her, and did so grudgingly, “you have to understand this is not a game.” Before he could protest, Gracia held up her hand. “It may feel that way; this subterfuge, but it’s deadly. One misstep could mean someone’s life.”

“I understand that, Mrs. Hughes.” Ed looked away, unable to face that clear green gaze. He hated the thought that Hughes had already died once for this. “I do. But if they’re looking for me…if they’re looking for Al, it’s better if we stay separated.”

“Better for who?” Gracia took his hand, his metal hand, between both of hers. “Ed, you don’t know how much Al and Winry miss you. How much they need you, especially now. Don’t you understand? They need their family and Dr. Rockbell,” her voice dimmed.

Alerted again, Ed pulled his hand free. “What about that old hag? She didn’t go with them to Rush Valley?” Come to think of it, that Xing kid hadn’t said anything about Granny. Neither had Hughes. Ed’s stomach roiled suddenly and he almost wanted to tell Mrs. Hughes to say nothing more, even though he knew he had to hear it.

Gracia whispered, “She was murdered, Edward, in her own hotel room in Central.”

“No.” The word escaped him and Ed stared helplessly at Gracia, thrown into too much turmoil to even make sense of it. Pinako Rockbell wasn’t dead. That old woman couldn’t die, not like that, not leaving Winry and Al alone that way. They needed her. Hell, he needed her to keep him grounded; to bicker with him and teach him how to act. “…who?”

Gracia shook her head slowly. “The murderer hasn’t been caught,” she whispered and took Ed’s hand again, giving him some sort of anchor. “That isn’t all, Edward. Your friend, the librarian? Sciezca?”

He nodded dumbly, overwhelmed enough that the news that Sciezca was missing and Gracia presumed her to be dead as well not even making an impression. Somewhere, deep inside, Ed realized this wasn’t good, that he should be crying or screaming or doing anything than sitting on a bench in a damp greenhouse, calmly listening to a woman tell him about two other women’s deaths but right now, he couldn’t muster up the ability to even react. “Thanks for telling me, Mrs. Hughes,” he said eventually, when her words ran down.

“How do you feel, Ed?”

The pressure of her hands wrapped around his automail, he could feel that. And the wet heat of the greenhouse, it made his clothes and hair feel uncomfortable. Ed blinked, drops of water on his lashes refracting the light into little prisms that dashed away when he blinked again. He swallowed hard, trying to clear the ringing in his ears. Ed ignored that yawning black pit that seemed to open up inside of him; the soft, hissing voice that rose out of it. _All of it, your fault,_ the voice seemed to say, and Ed tried not to listen, tried not to agree. “I’m okay,” he mumbled, very gently extracting his hand from Gracia’s grip. “It’ll be okay.”

_If only I could believe that. _

* * *

Walking around Central City in the evening was refreshing, Hohenheim thought. The stars were not quite as bright as in the country but that held true for nearly any city, regardless of circumstances. Still, there was plenty to see. People, he found, were always interesting to watch. Besides, walking gave him time to think, to consider, to plan.

Currently in his thoughts was what Rose had told him about her son. Hohenheim had a good chance to look at the child and didn’t see any resemblance at all to his son, either of them, actually, or Trisha or himself. He didn’t believe it to be true but had not wanted to call attention to that. If Rose believed it, it was very possible that Edward might believe the same thing. It really depended on how naïve the boy was and Hohenheim wasn’t sure he could answer that question readily. Not seeing his sons in as many years as it had been, Hohenheim readily admitted that he didn’t know Edward or Alphonse at all. Perhaps, without their mother’s influence, they had become rowdy young men, girlfriends in every city, though, with Edward’s attempt at human transformation and Alphonse’s subsequent incarceration in a suit of armor, Hohenheim rather doubted it. If something had happened between his eldest son and Rose, Hohenheim thought it would have been an act of desperation, rather than the love that Rose seemed to believe.

Not that his son couldn’t show some kindness, Hohenheim was sure, but the military certainly was not a place for a child to grow up and retain his innocence. Of course, Hohenheim’s eyes shuttered in consideration, neither was a brothel. Ah, how he wished that plan had been thought out more carefully but the egg was cracked and the yolk broken. Another plan would arise and be brought to fruition but how much more difficult would it be to bring his sons to heel?

Frowning slightly, Hohenheim turned his thoughts back to Rose. If Edward did have some sort of feelings for the girl, he would want to protect her. From what Hohenheim had gathered, Edward did try to do the right things and Hohenheim had no doubt that his son would do everything in his power to make sure that Rose and her child were safe. The only problem would be letting Edward know. Would he even return to Central City? There seemed no real reason for it, Hohenheim thought; his commanding officer had vanished and his friends, such as they were, were disbursed or dead. He spared a thought for Pinako, his old friend. He had not been pleased to discover that Kimbley had killed her but he understood the reasoning behind it. Still, the woman would’ve had insights into where her granddaughter and Alphonse might have gone – and if she knew where they were, she would’ve possibly been able to say where Edward might be, as well. Who knew where Alphonse and Winry Rockbell had vanished to, though Hohenheim wondered if perhaps they’d already met up with Edward. If they had, they might not have even remained within Amestris, though he wasn’t about to voice that concern to Dante. Somehow, though, Hohenheim felt sure that Edward wouldn’t leave his homeland. He was already aware that the homunculi were in place; that something was bound to happen and, if the stories told about Edward were true, he would fight to keep the people of Amestris safe.

“A truly noble endeavor,” Hohenheim murmured, a faint smile on his face. If nothing else, that sort of threat would pull his son out of hiding, he was sure of it.

* * *


	33. Chapter 33

* * *

Maes found that he already missed Gracia. He and Ed had said their goodbyes to her earlier, sending her back to Elicia and as normal a life as they could have right now. Ed had transmuted a little doll for Gracia to take back for Elicia, one that looked tellingly like Winry with its long blond hair and blue button eyes, but neither Gracia nor Maes said anything about it, just exchanged glances that spoke louder than words.

After packing Gracia into the car and waving her off, Edward had disappeared into the house. Maes had taken a little time to wander around the gardens first, needing to get his emotions under control. What he had concluded during his walk was that the Armstrong mansion was massive. Maes didn’t want to think about how much money had gone into constructing it, nor how much was shelled out to keep it in such pristine condition. How many gardeners were employed? Housekeepers? Cooks? It boggled his mind. Maes wasn’t sure he’d ever manage to see all the rooms inside the mansion, either.

At least he’d managed to track Ed down. Maes was sorry he’d missed Ed’s reaction to his introduction to the Armstrong family library. From the librarian’s telling, it had been something to see. The elderly woman had directed Maes through the stacks to where Ed had last been seen, hours after he’d vanished inside that cavernous set of rooms. Maes eventually found the boy, wishing Gracia had brought him a camera so he could preserve this moment. Ed had fallen asleep, curled up on his side, his automail arm his pillow, an open book under his splayed, flesh fingers. More books were scattered around him, a barricade against the waking world.

Maes had squatted down, out of arm and foot range, and spoken in a conversational tone. “If you don’t want to miss dinner, you ought to get up.”

“‘m not hungry,” Ed had whined, squeezing his eyes even more tightly closed. “Still readin’.”

“Through your eyelids? C’mon, Ed. Get up. You can bring some of these with you.” Maes got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head. There was a faint twinge where the scarred skin pulled tight but from the numerous workouts Gracia had put him through, Maes thought he was well on his way to being completely healed. He’d managed to chivy Ed out of the library, only being asked to carry four books to Ed’s stack of six.

Maes didn’t want to know which one Ed was currently reading – he’d never, ever gotten into alchemy. No matter how many times Roy’d reassured him otherwise, Maes thought alchemy was akin to magic. The science part of it made no sense to him; even Roy teaching him some of the symbology didn’t do it. Roy. Dammit. His loved ones were too far away, all of them. Tasting the whiskey in his glass, Maes let out a long sigh. The sound of it pulled Ed’s attention from the book he was staring at.

“What?” Ed now turned to him and Maes realized his sigh had definitely gotten the younger man’s attention.

“Just thinking about my family.” Maes took another drink of his whiskey, draining the last of the liquor out of the glass. Getting up, he crossed the room to splash more of the booze on top of the ice. “I miss them,” he said, his gaze crossing the room to where Opal and Cashern sat on a love seat, Cashern reading aloud to her softly as she leaned against his shoulder. Cashern wound a strand of Opal’s brilliant hair around his forefinger as he read, his thumb stroking the strands. Opal traced her palm along Cashern’s shoulder. He caught her hand, kissing the tips of her fingers. Ed shivered, turning his head away while Maes watched as Cashern got to his feet. Opal walked out of the room, winking back at them. “Good evening,” she said, spinning lightly and disappearing around the corner.

Cashern grinned. “Don’t wait for us tomorrow morning,” he said and raced after Opal. Maes heard her laugh as Cashern caught up to her.

“Hey, you okay?” Maes asked, noticing that Edward had wrapped his arms around himself, huddling into the sofa. “Ed?” Coming back to the sofa, Maes reached out but Ed ducked his head, twitching away. “What’s wrong?”

“I,” Ed glanced over his shoulder, his bangs partially hiding his eyes. “It’s them.”

Maes sat down, setting his drink on the delicate looking table in front of him. “Opal and Cashern?” He stretched an arm along the back of the sofa. “What’s wrong?”

Mumbling, Ed said, “I don’t understand.” He twisted around, facing Maes, his larynx bobbing. “Seeing them together, I can’t,” he shook his head, words failing him.

“Ed, let me ask you something. I know it might be hard for you to answer me but I’m not asking to hurt you.” Maes waited for Ed’s attention to be focused on him. “What happened to you, in that place,” he paused as the boy pushed back into the couch, his eyes widening. “Ed, listen to me.”

“I’m,” Edward swallowed, blinking his eyes rapidly. “I’m listening.”

Maes tapped the boy’s shoulder lightly. “Ed, you’re safe here. Remember that.”

“Safe,” Edward repeated, shuddering once violently. “Safe.”

“Yeah, Ed.” Maes leaned over, picking up his glass of whiskey, rattling the ice in it. “You’re safe here.” He patted Ed’s shoulder and, when it wasn’t shrugged off immediately, kept his hand in place. Sipping the whiskey, Maes waited until the boy calmed some to set the glass back down. “Now. I want you to tell me, if you can. What happened to you in that house, Ed, was it your first time?”

Shivering, Ed curled up, wrapping his arms around his legs. He buried his head against his knees, rocking. Maes slid his arm around Ed, moving closer, pulling Ed against his side. The boy was a knot but at least he allowed Maes to touch him. He rubbed Edward’s back, feeling how close to the surface the bones were. “You need to eat more.”

Choking out something that sounded like a laugh, Ed uncurled a little, his head against Maes’ shoulder. “I can’t,” he muttered.

“I know you don’t feel like it, son.” That much had been evident at dinner. Maes remembered Ed being able to pack away food but recently, he picked at his meals like someone dying of consumption. “You need to keep your strength up.” Maes kept rubbing his back. “Can you answer my question?”

He was quiet for so long that Maes had decided he’d never get the answer when Edward whispered, “I never really thought about it. It didn’t seem fair to Al; one more thing that he couldn’t do. And there wasn’t any time, anyway. Not, not for that.” Ed made that choked sound again. “I…didn’t want to be like my father, either. I didn’t want to…have someone love me and me just leave and not ever come back.” He took a shuddering breath. “What…what they did to me.” Shivers ran through his body and he curled up even more tightly. “Why do you want to know?”

The question was plaintive and miserable and Maes swore again for not rescuing Edward earlier. Pressing his cheek against the boy’s dyed-red hair, he said softly, regretfully, “I’m sorry, Ed. It shouldn’t be like that. You should remember your first time because it was sweet or awkward or because you loved that person you were with so much that you thought you were going to explode.” Ed pulled back slightly, frowning. Maes shoved his glasses up on his nose, peering through them at the boy. “Exploding is a good thing in this case, Ed.” He stroked circles between Ed’s shoulders with his thumb. “Your first time shouldn’t be with someone thinking of you as a toy or just wanting to hurt you for their own enjoyment.”

It took a little time but Ed nodded. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “Well, I guessed.”

Maes gave Edward some time to recover before asking the next question. “This is just as personal, Ed. You don’t have to answer this, if it makes you uncomfortable.” Edward raised his head a little, searching Maes’ face. He smiled gently, waiting for the tension to fade a little from Ed’s shoulders before continuing. “Before that house, Ed. Before they hurt you.” Steeling himself, Maes asked, “Did you ever touch yourself?”

Edward jerked away, his eyes nearly swallowing his face. “Why?”

Giving the boy some space, Maes picked up his glass and took a drink from it before answering. “It’s all right, Ed. Trust me, it’s all part of being male.” And female, but Maes decided not to go there just yet. Rolling his eyes, he quirked a grin at the boy. “Look, I know you have a hard time with being touched and if I were in your place, well, I’d feel the same way.” He settled back on the sofa, wriggling around to get comfortable, ignoring the hot eyes staring at him. “I just want you to know that there might be a time when you will want to be touched again, when maybe you’ll want to touch someone else. Affectionately.” Maes canted his eyes at Ed. “With love.”

“I don’t know.” Ed swallowed noisily, turning away.

Maes took another drink, swirling the liquor in his mouth and letting it trickle down his throat. He’d miss the Armstrong’s liquor cabinet, which certainly lived up to the generations of expectations. “Edward, I’m not saying that this is going to happen tomorrow or next month. Even next year.” Setting the glass back down, Maes rubbed Ed’s back, pleased that the boy relaxed a little under his hand. “But some time. And that’s why I asked you about touching yourself.”

The tips of Ed’s ears flushed bright red. “I don’t understand,” he squeaked.

“Oh, Ed, don’t you know you have to be able to love yourself before you can let anyone else love you?”

The sound was rude and self-depreciating. “Who would?” Ed’s back tightened and he pulled away from Maes.

Putting his other hand on Ed’s shoulder, Maes said, “I seem to remember a pretty girl coming to Central to take care of you.”

He shot an indefinable look over his shoulder. “You want me to think about Winry and, and?” Words failed him.

Maes grinned, ruffling Ed’s hair. “You think about whoever you want, Ed. Just…know it’s okay to feel good. I don’t want you to think that all sex is about pain.” He felt Ed shiver under his hands. “Look at me, son.” Slowly, Ed obeyed, at least turning around. “What happened to you shouldn’t have happened to anyone.” Maes cupped Ed’s chin gently, tilting his head up.

“But it did happen.” He pulled away, folding his arms as a barricade.

“I know,” Maes said regretfully. “I wish it hadn’t. Ed, are you listening?”

He nodded once, closing his eyes.

Maes leaned back into the sofa. “What Opal and Cashern are doing – they care for each other. That’s what sex should be, Ed, an expression of love, not a way to hurt someone.”

Ed’s breath hitched but he had no further reaction.

Finishing off his drink, Maes stood up, stretching. “I’m gonna go to bed, Edward.” He touched the boy’s head lightly, grinning when Ed twisted away, shooting him a glare. “Don’t stay up too late.”

Ed listened as Maes left the room, scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand when he was sure the older man was gone. “Damn it.” Swallowing, he pushed up off the sofa, picking up his book and heading for his room.

* * *

Winry woke abruptly, staring up at the ceiling. For a few heartwrenching seconds, she couldn’t remember when she was then everything filtered back in. She almost wished she could close her eyes and make it all go away again, that she could seek comfort or at least oblivion in her sleep, but she had plans. Carefully sliding out of her bed, Winry tiptoed across the floor, glad that she’d slept in her street clothes. She hefted her tool kit cautiously, not slinging it over her shoulder as usual. She had to be quiet now. Her hand came down to caress Den’s domed head as the dog started up from her own bed in the corner of the room. “You be a good girl,” Winry whispered to her dog, “just stay here.”

She closed her bedroom door behind her, creeping along the hall and down the stairs. The house seemed strange and silent in the night, moonlight spilling through uncurtained windows and making deep shadows across the floor. Winry ignored them, carrying her shoes and her tool kit through the house. At least, she thought, reaching the back door, Den was being quiet. She’d hate for her dog to start barking and wake everyone up.

Winry made sure to close and lock both the door and the gate, slipping off down the street. Heart pounding as she walked, Winry rubbed her free hand absently over her opposite arm. It was colder at night than she expected but she’d remembered to sling a jacket on before she’d walked out of her room. Her bare legs didn’t have additional protection but Winry figured she’d be on the train to Lior soon enough that it wouldn’t matter. Picking up speed, she all but jogged through the streets of Rush Valley. Any other time, she would have marveled at the fact that the city seemed so quiet, unlike its appearance in the day.

The train station was the only thing that seemed alive in the very early morning. Porters unloaded shipments of metal and other raw materials from the boxcars. Winry had to stop to let a porter by with a cart full of boxes of apples. Her mouth watered at the sight but Winry shook her head; there would be food on the train. She climbed the steps to the station, planning on buying her ticket.

“W-what are you doing here?”

Winry spun, startled, her eyes wide. For a second, she thought, Ed? – but no, Al stood at the doorway, a little suitcase hanging limply from his hand. “What does it look like?” she asked, surprised her voice sounded steady, especially the way her heart leaped in her chest. Winry turned back toward the ticket counter, inhaling deeply.

Alphonse caught her elbow, wheeling her back around. “Winry,” he said, right up next to her ear, “you can’t do this.”

“Can’t do what?” She jerked free, glaring up at Al.

“You heard what Shen said.” A dark frown covered his face and Alphonse caught her elbow again. “It’s a trick.”

“If it’s a trick,” Winry didn’t try pulling free this time, though triumph bubbled up and out of her, “then why are you here, too?”

Al’s mouth dropped open and he started to speak. A little squeak escaped him and he deflated, his hand falling away from her arm. “You know why,” he said miserably, his head dropping forward so Winry couldn’t see his eyes.

Winry pulled him into a hug, holding onto Alphonse tightly. “I know,” she murmured. Even if it all was a trick, there was still a possibility, a hope that Ed might be alive. Winry almost wished that she’d seen Ed’s body in that casket then shuddered at the thought. At least then they’d know for sure but even so, hope was a tricky thing, unrestrainable. Despite all her talk earlier this evening, she didn’t want to think that Edward really was gone. Al needed him; dammit, she needed him.

“We both can’t leave Shen and Carol,” Al was patting her back lightly. “You go back, okay?” He set his hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, just far enough that they could meet each others’ eyes. “Before Shen and Carol get worried.”

Before Winry could retort that maybe Al should be the one going home, arms draped over their shoulders, making them jump. “It’s far too early for me to be awake.”

“Ling!” Winry hissed. She jerked out from under his arm. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged, that easy smile on his face. “What I’m supposed to do? Protect you two.” Ling waved a finger between them. “It’s harder to do when I’m sleepy.” His brows drew down. “And Ran Fan isn’t here to watch my back,” he pointed out, reminding them that she was still recovering from surgery.

Winry lowered her head. She’d promised Ran Fan that she would be there to help her. If she went to Lior, she’d be breaking that promise. Behind her, the locomotive engine made a chuffing sound as it warmed up for the next leg of its journey. She looked over her shoulder at it, her wistful expression suddenly changing to one of shock. “Al,” she hissed through her teeth.

Something in her expression must have communicated itself to Alphonse. He risked a glance at the engine, his mouth dropping open. Winry would’ve sworn his hair stood up like a cat’s did when it was startled. “Oh,” he mumbled, looking away, his expression horrified.

“What?” Ling craned his neck, ignoring the other two’s attempts to stop him. “That man is huge!”

“If we run now,” Al whispered, clutching at Winry’s shoulder.

“We’ll look like we’ve got something to hide,” she murmured back.

“Damn!” Alphonse looked more frightened now than Winry had ever seen him. She remembered Ed cowering behind her in Rush Valley, his teeth chattering; his hands clutching her shoulders. Al looked in worse straits now.

“Seriously huge. We have wrestlers back home in Xing that don’t get that big.” Ling chattered on, oblivious.

“Stop looking!” Alphonse all but yelped, the sound of his voice attracting unwanted attention.

“Maybe they’d know.” Though the voice was mild, it made Al wince and hunker down, as if he was expecting a beating. Winry caught his hand, giving it a squeeze. She watched as Ling tilted his head back, that brilliant smile of his firmly in place, as Mr. Curtis approached. “Good evening,” he said. Al shuddered all over, his teeth chattering.

“You kids are out awfully early,” Mrs. Curtis said conversationally.

“We’re out at all times,” Ling said. “My friend here,” he gestured proudly at Winry, “is an automail mechanic. Her brother and I escort her to see her clients.”

“And it’s time to get you back home, isn’t it, Twilla?” Al asked almost desperately.

“You are an amazing man.” Ling’s sing-song voice took on an awed note. “Have you ever considered going to Xing?”

“Ling!” Winry aimed a kick at his shin which he dodged without even looking. “C’mon, it’s time to go home.”

He griped, folding his arms, “But you always tell me to be polite to strangers!”

Mrs. Curtis laughed at Ling’s protest. “It’s usually a good idea,” she said and Winry risked a glance up at the woman, realizing, as soon as she did, what a bad move that was. “Winry?”

Granny had always told her not to play poker; she just wasn’t good at keeping her expression neutral. Still, she tried to pull it off, for Al’s sake. “I’m sorry, who?”

Mrs. Curtis’ eyes narrowed to slits and it seemed flames suddenly licked out around her making Winry realize just why Ed and Al were so frightened of their teacher. Mrs. Curtis’ hand shot out, grabbing hold of Al by the collar as he attempted to slip away. “You’re too honest,” Mrs. Curtis said over Al’s ‘glrk!’ “And I recognize you. Despite the disguise.” She tugged at Alphonse’s collar, nearly lifting him off his feet. “And you,” and Winry knew that she was seeing something rare and memorable – Mrs. Curtis, completely shocked. “Al?” she whispered.

His voice was just as hushed. “Teacher.”

Letting him down gently, she wrapped her arms around him and Al stiffened, his eyes widening for a few seconds before he slumped against her, burying his face into her shoulder. Winry lowered her head, starting to move away when a broad hand stopped her. Mr. Curtis’ dour expression didn’t seem to change at all but Winry could see a glimmer in his eyes, and found herself pressed close to his chest, tears streaming down her cheeks.

* * *

Wrath squatted on his heels, drawing designs in the dust with a fingertip. The argument had been going on for a while between Dante and Hohenheim. He’d lost track of what it was about a long time ago. He didn’t really care, anyway; the thing they were talking about, making a Philosopher’s Stone, really didn’t mean anything to him. He didn’t care if he became human or not. Why should he? If he was human, he couldn’t do the things he was able to do. He’d get old. He’d die. Wrath had already died once and hadn’t liked it that time. Why would he want to do it again? Dying hurt. Being stuck in that place hurt. This body, it didn’t hurt. Not much, at least. Wrath poked at the dust, making a tiny pile of it. Even when he’d been in the middle of a fight, it didn’t hurt.

His brow furrowed a little as he remembered that lady, the one from the island. The one who called him ‘son’. She was awfully pretty, Wrath thought, but not his real mommy. His real mommy stood across the big room from him, listening to the argument. He got to live inside her and that, Wrath thought, was really nice. It was like she was always taking care of him.

Head jerking up at the sound of a familiar name, Wrath studied the people arguing. Pride and Mommy were quiet and listening, the other two were arguing. Well, the woman was screaming. Wrath really didn’t like her. He wished she’d just shut up.

“…no word at all. You think that he’d make a peep, noisy as he is.”

“I’ll go find him.” Wrath stood up, dusting his fingers off on his trousers. “Please!” He couldn’t wait to find Elric and smash him into the ground. The thoughts that ran through his mind were so nice, they made him shiver.

“You look too young.” Dante waved a hand at him, dismissing the suggestion. “People would never take you seriously.”

“Besides, the whole Amestrian military is on the lookout for him.” Pride folded his arms across his broad chest.

“He’s little. He can hide,” Wrath blurted out. “I can find him.”

“What do you know about hunting down your quarry?” Pride turned a scary look at Wrath, who ignored him to move closer to Mommy.

“I hunted rabbits on that island,” Wrath said, his hands clenching into fists. “He’s just a bigger rabbit. Not even much bigger.” He sneered.

The corner of Dante’s mouth turned down. “You need to stay here,” she said sharply. “Where we can keep an eye on you.”

“But Elric’s mine! I want him dead!” Wrath gnashed his teeth together, rolling his eyes. His jagged fingernails cut into the palms of his hands.

Sighing, Dante said, her voice dull and plodding to Wrath’s ears, “He must remain alive. We need him alive.”

“He needs to die!” Wrath stomped his bare heel onto the floor, raising a cloud of dust. Fury overwhelmed him, making him shake so hard, his teeth chattered. “I want him dead! Dead!” He stomped his heel again in time with the word ‘dead’. Caught up in his own rage, Wrath didn’t even realize Dante had moved until her hand crossed his face, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“We need the boy alive, you little fool!” She kicked Wrath in the ribs with her pointy-toed shoes, sending him spinning. “All the alchemists who’ve seen the Gate must live.” She drew back and kicked Wrath again for emphasis then leaned down, grabbing his bangs and hauling his head up so he was forced to look at her. “You are useless. The alchemists – they are priceless and will live until I say otherwise.” Shaking his head by her grip on his hair, she asked, “Do you understand me? Do you?”

“Yes, yes!” Wrath whined, clawing at her hands, trying to make Dante let him go. She shook his head one last time then shoved Wrath away, skidding him across the floor. He curled up around his aching stomach and ribs. He heard Mommy say something but Dante’s whip sharp voice cut her off. Trembling, Wrath peered out through his messy bangs, vowing that he’d kill Dante if he had to, to get to Elric.

* * *


	34. Chapter 34

* * *

Roy wasn’t sure what he’d expected that morning but strangers in his kitchen certainly hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d expected Winry and Al, and there was definite evidence that Ling had been there earlier, by the amount of dirty dishes in the sink. It was the other two who surprised him.

The pair seemed ill-matched; he a great hulk of a man; she made of whipcord and wire; but it was obviously that they were together. “Roy,” Alphonse said, showing a happier face than Roy was accustomed to seeing, “I’d like to introduce you to Sig and Izumi Curtis. Mr. Curtis, Teacher, this is Roy Mustang, though he’s going as Yao Shen.”

“Mr. Mustang.” Mrs. Curtis nodded her head, giving Roy a pleasant smile. She moved, far more quickly than Roy expected her to be able to, rising from her seat at the table to stand in front of him, almost in a blur of motion. “So you’re the one who coerced my students into joining the military.”

“No, Teacher, it’s not like that!” Alphonse wrung his hands behind her. “You know Brother is…was impulsive.” His face fell and, as if Mrs. Curtis could feel his reaction, she spun to her pupil, her thin braids stinging Roy’s face. She touched Al’s cheek, a lingering caress, and Roy almost felt like turning away from the obvious emotion between them. “It really isn’t like that,” Al murmured.

“Then,” Mrs. Curtis glowered at Roy over her shoulder, making him shiver involuntarily at her feral grin, so very much like Edward’s, “maybe someone should tell me how it is.”

* * *

The sun’s light beamed down like a benefactor, reminding Rose of Father Cornello’s words. She could almost see his beatific smile, feel his warm hand pressing against her shoulders. Shuddering, she pushed those memories away. Father Cornello had done nothing but lie to her and the people of Lior. Then the military came and her city was lost until Scar and Lyra arrived. And Ed came back.

Rose couldn’t help her smile at that memory, though at the time, Edward’s reappearance had confused her. She knew that she’d gone into some dark place in her head, after he’d left Lior. And then her baby was born. She wanted to find Ed, to have him help name the baby. Their baby. Their son. Created with love out of all the horrors she’d been through, that they’d both been through. But there had been no time in Lior to talk to Ed, not with Lyra and Scar insisting that he be kept in stocks. Rose hadn’t understood that. She didn’t understand why Ed was so adamant that everyone leave Lior, either, but she’d trusted him; trusted him enough to obey him. So she’d left with Lyra, even though a part of her wanted to stay behind and help Edward out. He was so often in need of help, in need of rescuing himself, she thought; stroking her son’s hair.

But she’d done as Ed asked and left Lior behind, traveling with Lyra until they reached Central. And it was only here that Rose realized that Lyra might not be the person Rose had thought she was. There was something strange and peculiar about the other woman, something that made Rose nervous. Her baby didn’t like to be touched by Lyra and even whimpered or cried when the other woman held him. The way Lyra had looked down on Rose’s son frightened the young mother.

She gathered her son closer to her breast, remembering Lyra’s cold expression as she stared at them both. It had been the best idea, Rose thought, leaving the other woman behind. Somehow, whatever protection Lyra had offered them while they were traveling together had vanished. Rose wasn’t sure what had happened between them but she knew that staying with Lyra would only lead to something bad.

At least Central had proven friendlier than Lyra. Rose was pleased she’d made friends and found a job. The Black Horse was a busy place but Rose found that the people who came into the tavern were generally kind and patient to a young woman who was just learning how to become a waitress. It really wasn’t that hard, Rose thought, smile and listen to what they want, make suggestions, offer a little kindness and get rewarded with smiles, tips and an actual salary. Cleaning up after the evening’s rush, that was the difficult part, though everyone pitched in with that. Scrubbing the floor was the worst job, Rose thought, moving the heavy bristled broom through the soapy water to clean up any spills of liquids or food. Washing the dishes and cutlery wasn’t nearly as bad; that had to be kept up the entire time the tavern was open. And fortunately, the linens went to a Xingese laundry to be cleaned. Madeline, the owner of the tavern, said she didn’t mind if Rose sent the baby’s diapers to be cleaned there, either, as long as they were well rinsed to begin with. Rose wasn’t sure how the diapers were washed but they certainly came back sweet smelling and so soft.

Madeline was amazingly caring, something that Rose hadn’t expected. With her dark skin, she figured that she’d be shunned by the pretty blonde but Madeline told Rose that she reminded her of some girls who’d worked for her before. “Good girls, all of them. Just because something happened,” and her voice would trail off. “Well, you’re a good girl, too, Rose, and your little boy is very good.” She’d always blow raspberries on the baby’s stomach to make him laugh.

Rose knew just how lucky she was to be working for someone as understanding as Madeline. Most employers wouldn’t concern themselves with the fact that she had a son she needed to take care of; that he needed feeding and diapering and a safe place to stay while she worked. That sometimes her attention was divided, because she was wondering how her baby was. Madeline actually cared for Rose’s son, not the way Lyra had, but almost like she was his aunt. Rose didn’t kid herself that the Sun God Leto was watching over her – for all she knew, Father Cornello had made up the god and all the rituals surrounding him – but it was nice to sit on the stoop in the morning and watch the sun come up, even if she did need to scrub it clean before the tavern opened for the day.

Dipping her brush in the bucket, Rose sloshed soapy water across the stone steps. She scrubbed at the stone, the thick bristles of her brush erasing the footsteps left from the night before. Ronnie whistled softly as he swept the sidewalk in front of the Black Horse and his younger brother, Nathan, scrubbed the glass windows with vinegar and old newspaper to make them shine in the morning sun. The brothers reminded Rose a little of Edward and Alphonse, though, truth be told, it didn’t take much to make Rose think of them.

Brushing her bangs off her forehead with the back of her hand, Rose scrubbed the granite steps until they gleamed. She’d have to fetch some clean water to sluice the soap off and waved at the brothers to let them know she was going around back to get it. Pouring the now dirty soap water into the street, Rose carried her bucket behind the tavern to the pump. She set the bucket down and began pumping the water up. It was hard to get the water started but once it poured out of the spigot, it only took a few pumps to fill the bucket.

Rose straightened and stretched her back before picking up the bucket. Even the area back behind the tavern was kept nicely, she thought approvingly. Madeline liked everything tidy; she said that keeping the area behind the tavern clean cut down on rats and keeping everything else clean made it better for the customers. Humming a little song she’d made up to keep the children entertained back in Lior, Rose picked up the bucket, starting back around the building.

The bucket fell from her hands, spilling all over the hem of her dress and into the alleyway at the sight in front of her. Lyra’s knifeblade smile greeted Rose, her narrow, delicate hand raised as if in friendship. “Hello, Rose,” she said in her low voice, “I’ve been looking for you.”

* * *

Ed’s eyes snapped open abruptly. For a few seconds, he couldn’t remember where he was, the shadows overhead unrecognizable and strange. Taking a deep breath, he tried to reconcile where he was now with where he’d been in his dream. He shifted a bit, the dream making him a little uncomfortable. He hadn’t been able to control his dream the way he had learned to control his conscious thoughts.

Squirming, Ed wasn’t sure it would’ve made much difference. He felt his cheeks heat up, remembering all too well the things that Margot had done to his body. Despite the fact that awake, he reacted negatively to being touched, that even a brush of a hand on his shoulder made him jerk away, in his dreams, he didn’t have that problem.

Hughes hadn’t asked much about what happened in Miss Lizabet’s house and Ed wasn’t really up to talking about it. It wasn’t enough that he’d nightmares before, the bad dreams he’d had since were worse, since for a few minutes afterwards, he couldn’t remember for sure where he was. This dream, though, had nothing to do with that place and everything to do with Winry Rockbell.

Winry wasn’t just his mechanic and his friend, she was a girl. Ed had realized it and ignored it when they were little kids and then had to learn to do both all over again when she was traveling with him and Alphonse. It had been surprisingly easy but Ed realized in retrospect that a lot of that had to do with his own determination not to let anything come between him and finding a way to get Al’s body back. Now that he no longer had Al to concentrate on, his thoughts drifted and Winry kept coming to mind, whether he wanted her to or not.

Covering his eyes with his forearm, Ed let the cool metal soothe his flushed skin. It didn’t really help, just gave him something else to concentrate on, divided his attention away his erection. He tried not to think about it but it was like picking at a scab – what would Winry think if she knew? What would she do if she knew how often he’d imagined her hands on his body while Margot played him like her instrument? Would she be angry at him for thinking of her that way? Or would Winry understand?

He groaned softly. Winry was an enigma: kind and considerate one second and throwing wrenches unerringly the next. Would she care that he sought some sort of comfort and latched onto his memories of her while in that house? Would Winry hate him for focusing on visions of her when Margot rewarded him with the occasional gentle touch? What would she say if he told her that her name escaped his mouth when he was allowed to come?

Winry, Edward knew, could be caring and generous but would she understand that he needed something to cling to in those days and nights in that place? Would she hate him for making her memories a part of it, no matter what comfort they brought? Would she despise him now, for thinking of her, when his hand moved slowly over his erection?

Her sweet smile, her scent; the feel of her calloused hands on his skin; Ed swallowed, closing his eyes and allowing the memories to rise. He imagined her palm rubbing over the head of his penis, her fingers tugging at his foreskin. He dreamed what her lips might taste like; how Winry would feel pressed in against him, close as skin. Ed wondered what she’d feel like, surrounding his heated flesh. Would she smile down at him, her hair flowing everywhere? Would her skin flush up?

Hand tightening around his cock, Ed gave it a pull, swirling his palm over the head before sliding his fist back down to the base. “Winry,” he mumbled, concentrating on the brilliance of her smile, the way she smelled, how her skin felt when it brushed against his. “Winry!”

Hips arching up, Ed came hard, his stomach splashed with wet heat. Panting, he rubbed himself roughly to finish up, thinking Winry didn’t deserve to play a part in any of this.

Even if, he thought while he wiped himself clean, maybe he needed her to be.

* * *

“So that’s Al’s teacher.” Paninya’s eyes were wide as she watched the fight between Alphonse and the woman Winry had told her was Mrs. Curtis. Paninya hadn’t really seen Alphonse fight – though she’d had plenty of Ed chasing after her and wasn’t he a clever little monkey – and now she was being treated to an impromptu sparring match. Alphonse moved deliberately and steadily while his teacher seemed to almost flit around. She landed three good hits on Al that made Roy, standing beside Winry, suck in his breath in empathy.

Winry winced, watching Al get beaten into the ground with an expression almost of pain on her face. “No wonder Ed and Al didn’t want me to talk to her about the way she was treating them.” Paninya nodded. She wouldn’t want to get on Mrs. Curtis’ bad side, either.

“Hopefully,” Roy ran a finger around his collar, “she just treats her apprentices that way.”

“She won’t train someone in the military.” Mr. Curtis’ deep, quiet voice rumbled behind the trio.

“Yeah, I gathered that.” Roy’s expression shuttered and Paninya wondered at it but a grunt drew her attention back to the fight in front of her. Ling sat at Winry’s feet, chin propped up in the palm of his hand, letting out a low whistle as Al sailed over his teacher’s head to slam into the hard packed earth of the courtyard. “Ouch,” Roy winced. “Maybe I’m glad she won’t offer to train me.”

“I don’t know.” Riza’s critical voice came from behind them all. “It might be good for you. How long has it been since you’ve had any type of hand to hand combat training?”

“I’ll let Ling teach me,” Roy responded immediately and Paninya glanced up at him, wondering if he was flushing from the heat or because he really liked the idea of sparring with Mrs. Curtis. “You can teach people to fight, right, Ling?”

“As a prince,” Ling didn’t bother taking his eyes off the fight in front of him, “I’ve never trained anyone to fight. Ran Fan would be the better teacher.” He glanced up at Roy then, a wry grin on his face. “But you’ll have to wait until Miss Winry says she’s able to fight.”

“That’ll be a while,” Winry said, hissing as Al took another tumble. “Ed managed to learn how to use his automail in a year - ” she ignored Paninya’s startled, ‘a year!’ – “and even though Ran Fan says she’ll know how to use hers in six months, well.” Winry shrugged eloquently.

“If Ran Fan is determined, she’ll do it.” Ling obviously had complete faith in his retainer.

“That would be amazing,” Paninya said, looking down at him. “They say it’s easier for kids but I got my automail when I was little and it was hard. It took a long time for me to learn how to walk. And use my arm, too.” She patted that metal appendage. “I think part of it was because it was just so heavy but Mr. Dominic took good care of me. And so did the therapists who taught me how to walk again. And he made me lighter automail, too.”

“With weapons.” Winry’s attention drifted from Al getting beaten up to Paninya’s limbs. “Mr. Dominic did an amazing job with your automail. He’s a good teacher, now that he’s gotten over who my grandmother is.” Paninya patted her shoulder when Winry’s face took on a downward cast. Rallying, Winry smiled wanly. “But you should be proud of yourself, too, Paninya. You had to learn how to use three limbs. That’s pretty amazing.”

There was a horrible thudding sound and everyone turned back to the courtyard. Alphonse lay sprawled out on the baked clay. The twitching of his fingers and the tiny moan escaping him were the only indications he was still alive. Mrs. Curtis dusted her hands off, barely a braid out of place. Her white tunic wasn’t even dirty and Paninya felt a twinge of envy at that. As Mrs. Curtis walked across the courtyard, Paninya could tell she wasn’t even breathing hard or sweating very much. It was like she wasn’t real.

“My stupid apprentice is still alive,” Mrs. Curtis said, hooking a thumb over her shoulder. “He’ll need something to drink, though. Not too cool. He’s not accustomed to sparring in this kind of heat.” Her face suddenly went pale and she coughed loudly, not covering her mouth fast enough to hide the blood that spilled past her fingers.

Paninya felt the world decrease to the size of a pinhead, her eyes going wide at the sight of Mrs. Curtis’ blood. She shuddered, nearly falling over while Roy and Winry moved forward, not nearly as quickly as Mr. Curtis. “I have your medicine,” he said, catching Mrs. Curtis as she staggered. “You need to sit down. You’ve worked yourself too hard today.” Supporting his wife, he led her through the door Riza held open, Winry and Roy following behind, Ling trailing after them. Paninya could barely watch; the stark sight of blood on Mrs. Curtis’ face sent her shuddering, made her feel like she was going to puke.

Alphonse limped up after the others had vanished, rubbing his head. “How is she?” he asked, sprawling next to Paninya then his concern turned to her. “How are you?”

“I hate blood.” She hunched her shoulders up, curling into a little ball. “It…I just can’t stand the sight of it.”

“Umm.” Al quickly scrubbed at the side of his mouth farthest away from her. “I guess you’re not going to be helping in surgery, huh?” he asked.

“Oh, no!” Paninya wrapped her arms tightly around herself. “That’s not funny, Al!” She tried to glare at him but the corner of his mouth was still bleeding, making her stomach turn to water. Turning away abruptly, Paninya tried to get to her feet but her phobia sent her to her knees, instead.

A pair of warm hands caught her waist, giving her something stable to concentrate on. “It’s okay, Paninya. Just take some deep breaths, all right? Slow, steady breaths.” Al’s voice was hypnotic and Paninya followed his instructions, hearing him inhaling behind her. He pulled her so her back rested on his chest, still so hot from fighting his teacher. She could feel his chest expand when he inhaled and matched her breathing pattern to his. “Good, that’s good,” Alphonse said, his breath tickling the outer rim of her ear. “Just keep breathing.”

Paninya swallowed hard, trying to settle her stomach. It kept trying to twist into knots. She couldn’t take deep breaths easily. Her fingers plucked at the neckline of her shirt, stretching it out as if it restricted her breathing. “‘s silly,” she gasped.

“No, it’s not.” Al hummed in her ear. “It makes sense to me.” He gathered her hands together, holding them in one of his, using the other to stroke along her clammy skin. “But it’s okay, Paninya. You don’t have to deal with it alone. I’ll take care of you.” Her teeth chattered as she twisted around to look at him. As if he could read her mind, Alphonse’s smile was warm. “I promise.”

* * *


	35. Chapter 35

* * *

It seemed like Lyra had been making Rose walk forever. The sun had risen up high enough that it peered over the tops of the smaller buildings, the brilliance of it glaring into Rose’s eyes. She felt like a mouse when the shadow of a hawk crossed over its back; too terrified to act. Her thoughts circled like the hawk, too, wondering what had happened to her baby; to Ronnie and Nathan. Had Lyra hurt them? Had they come around the back of the building to look for her? What would Madeline think, when she got to the Black Horse?

She turned abruptly, facing the smaller woman. “What did you do to my baby?”

“Your baby is fine.” Lyra’s narrow shoulders moved, as if in a shrug. “I left it there.”

“And Ronnie and Nathan?” Her breath caught in her throat.

“They didn’t even see me.” She took Rose’s arm, her fingers holding tight as metal pinchers.

Rose shivered, thinking that Lyra’s fingers were as cold as metal, too. Still, she persisted. “So they’re all right? My baby and my friends are all right?”

Beyond another faint shift of her shoulders, Lyra seemed to ignore the question. “Keep walking, Rose. We have some place we need to be.”

“You made me leave my baby.” She jerked her arm, yelping when Lyra held on tight, her nails cutting into Rose’s flesh.

“Soon you won’t care.” Lyra’s fingers dug deeper into Rose’s arm, squeezing hard. Rose gasped and struggled, fear making her stronger, but Lyra was stronger still. “Don’t make me break your arm, Rose, because I will.” She didn’t seem to notice she had to drag Rose along the street, her expression never wavering from that eerie blank calm.

“But I need to take care of my baby, Lyra.” Rose tried pleading, looking over her shoulder, back the way they’d come. Why was no one around? The cracked walls of the buildings, the missing glass in the windows answered her question. No one lived here, not anyone who might help her. “Please, Lyra!” She twisted her arm, ignoring the pain. Terror made her strong enough to yank free but the loss of pressure on her arm sent Rose sprawling on the rough cobblestones of the street. With a moan of pain, she scrabbled back away from Lyra, the stones cutting into her fingers. A rock came loose in her hand and she grasped it without thinking, trying to get to her feet on the uneven surface. Her hip throbbed from the fall; her arm ached from Lyra’s grip but Rose faced the other woman, the rock clenched in her hand.

“What are you going to do with that, Rose?” Lyra tilted her head, her silky hair spilling around her face. “Are you going to hurt me?”

Was Lyra laughing? Rose blinked, afraid to wipe her eyes because Lyra might grab her again. “I will,” she shrilled, “if you come near me.” Taking a step backwards, then another one, Rose thought maybe Lyra would let her go.

“Don’t be a fool, Rose.” Lyra folded her arms, slender fingers drumming at the crooks of her elbows. “I know all your weaknesses.”

“I’m not weak!” Rose risked a glance behind her. The sidewalk was only a step or two away and she’d be off this awful road that seemed almost eager to trip her. The rock was the only thing that felt real right now; its cool, rough surface cutting into her palm. Her hip ached with every movement but Rose persevered, biting her lip in an attempt to counteract the pain.

The laugh cut sharply, a stiletto of a sound, making Rose wince. “Come with me, Rose. We both know you’re a pathetic little thing, barely able to keep that baby of yours alive. This way, maybe he’ll have a chance.”

“He needs me.” Rose fought with the terror rising in her belly. Her heart tried to beat its way free from her ribs. Her hands and feet felt numb and cold. “Please, Lyra, let me go to my baby.”

“But I need you so much more, Rose.” She sounded almost apologetic. Rose shuddered, Lyra’s smile reminding her of a cat toying with a hurt bird.

“No.” She made it to the curb, stepping up onto the cracked and pitted sidewalk. At least it was in better shape than the street. “You don’t need me, Lyra. You never did. You’re the strong one.” Rose shivered as Lyra watched her with a flat, impassive stare. “My son, he needs me.” Pressing her free hand to her chest, Rose tried to see some hint of sympathy in Lyra’s eyes.

When the other woman didn’t move, Rose felt hope bloom. She couldn’t chance Lyra’s mood but she didn’t seem inclined to follow. Rose took another couple of steps backwards, her fingers loosening on the rock. It clattered to the ground, the sound loud in the empty street. Whispering her thanks to any god that might be listening, Rose turned abruptly, her hair blinding her for a second.

Hands caught her shoulders and she stared up into a face she didn’t recognized, a man’s face, tanned, moustached, a patch covering one eye. His dark hair was cut with a military precision and Rose felt her body go limp in relief. “Sir, please help me. That woman,” she glanced over her shoulder, “that woman kidnapped me. She’s taken me away from my child, sir. I want to go back to him.” Turning back to face the man, she whispered, “I’m afraid she’s going to hurt me.”

His voice was kind, Rose thought, so kind, she almost didn’t hear the words he said. “I’m afraid, my dear, you’re correct in your assumption.”

* * *

Victoria walked through the house quietly, dry washing her hands. Peering into each room as she came upon it, she wondered if she would find Miss Opal anywhere. She’d been looking for a while – long enough that the rooms were starting to look alike. Her stomach grumbled in protest of skipping breakfast and, by the feel in her tummy, Victoria was sure it had to be around lunch by now, but she wanted to find her mentor before she ate. She hated that Opal had less time here to spend with her and hoped that it would change when they started traveling again.

Unsure where she belonged, Victoria had made friends with one of the gardeners, a maid and one of the cooks. The adults seemed to have no time for a girl from Creata and Edward – Eric – whatever his name really was – almost seemed to be a magician, the way he disappeared. With a heavy sigh, Victoria found her way to the garden, taking in the lovely summer flowers. Roses bloomed, as did various kinds and colors of daisies. Lavender scented the air, growing in great, purple clumps along the walking path, encouraging her to touch the sweet-smelling heads of the herbs.

She took the path that led to the smallest fountain in the garden; a little statue of a boy and a girl, an umbrella covering their heads. Ironically, water sprayed out of the umbrella’s tip but, as the children were underneath the umbrella, the water dripped off the edges and the children didn’t get wet. There was a bench nearby, one that seemed almost to have grown up out of the ground. Victoria thought it suited her, far more than one of the elaborate fountains that she’d been told had been set up to commemorate one or another of the Armstrong ancestors. She had no idea that her mentor’s family was so involved in the Amestrian history or so wealthy, before arriving in this country and specifically, this house.

Catching sight of another person sprawled on the bench, Victoria hesitated before she realized that he was one of the people she’d been looking for. Unsure of her welcome, she watched him, half hidden by one of the rose bushes. Edward had a stalk of lavender in his hand, occasionally raising it up to inhale the scent. His expression was downcast, something different than the faces Victoria had seen on him before. She thought it would be nice to see him smile, at least once. She wondered if she could encourage him to smile. Thinking that it would make his eyes sparkle like golden coins, Victoria made up her mind and cleared her throat, stepping out from behind the rose.

Edward raised his head, his feet coming down to the ground in a smooth motion. His face closed in on itself, as if a door was shut and all of his emotions remained on the other side of it.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Victoria said, throwing out a smile as she stepped into the tiny cleared area. “I’ve been looking for anyone since I woke up this morning.” When Edward seemed unlikely to reply, she went on. “I haven’t seen Miss Opal for two days, nor Cashern.”

“They’ve been busy.” Edward bent his legs, wrapping his arms around them, the lavender stem bobbing loosely in his grip. There was a tone to his voice that warned Victoria from asking exactly what they might’ve been doing.

Instead, she let her smile dim a little, shrugging. “I just wanted to know when I’d start my training again.” She hadn’t learned any new alchemy since they’d arrived in Amestris. Miss Opal had been far too busy since returning to her native country to teach her anything. Victoria wasn’t lying that she hadn’t seen her mentor in the past two days. She’d barely spoken to Miss Opal in five, and that last time, Miss Opal had asked her briefly if she was doing all right and had rumpled her hair before going on to wherever she was headed off to. Victoria wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting upon coming along on this trip but not getting any additional alchemy lessons hadn’t been, as far as she was concerned, part of the bargain. She was Miss Opal’s apprentice, after all, and she wanted to be taught. There was no way she’d become a first rate alchemist with the little bit of teaching she’d had so far.

“That’s right.” Edward didn’t move but it seemed he was watching her more closely. “She’s training you in alchemy, isn’t she?”

Pouting prettily, Victoria took a few swaying steps around the fountain. “She was.” She repeated what she’d thought just a few seconds before, that she’d had no lessons since arriving in Amestris. “I might as well have stayed home.”

Edward snorted. “If that’s the way you feel, maybe you should’ve.”

Her mouth dropping open, Victoria closed it with a snap. She hadn’t expected him to say something like that to her. Edward didn’t seem to notice her reaction. “If she doesn’t have time to train you right now, that doesn’t stop you from learning. You take some books out of the library,” he snorted again, grumbling, “the Armstrong family library, passed down through generations, and do your own research. My teacher,” he dropped his feet off the bench again, hooking a thumb into his chest, “only taught my brother and me so much. The rest, we learned on our own. If Opal’s not there to teach you right now, study up so you’ll have questions to ask her when she can teach you.” He actually seemed to be looking at her now, rather than through her or past her. Victoria almost shivered at the expression in his eyes, though she couldn’t quite read it. “Either that or tell her to send you home.”

He pushed off the bench, twirling the lavender stem between his fingers. “It’s your choice but if I was teaching you, I’d be more impressed if you studied on your own rather than waiting for me to teach you.”

Swallowing hard, Victoria reached out, not quite touching him as Edward started to pass her by. “Would you…would you teach me?”

Edward shied away from her hand, putting more distance between them, his brow knitting. “Me?”

“Yes. I mean, Miss Opal will always be my mentor but if you could help me, maybe suggest some books to study.” She spread her hands, giving Edward a hopeful look. “I’d really appreciate it.”

“My training methods would be nothing like hers, I’d bet.” Edward still seemed to be considering the idea, reluctantly, but at least thinking it over and not telling her ‘no’ offhand.

Victoria remained quiet, her hands twisting together as she waited for his decision. He studied her with those peculiar gold eyes, sweeping them up and down her figure dispassionately. She wondered what he saw. Would he like her dress? Did he think her feet were too big? Maybe he thought that she wasn’t pretty or her figure too plain. With an aggravated sigh, Edward jerked his head at her. “C’mon. Let’s go see what the library has to offer.”

Biting her lip to keep from squealing, Victoria fell in behind him, unable to keep from hopping a little in her excitement. Edward glanced over his shoulder, not quite meeting her eyes. “Look, I’ll help you,” he said, “but you need to remember that Opal’s your teacher. I’m not getting in the way of that.”

“I understand.” Victoria bobbed her head. “I just want some help, Edward. Even if you just pick out some books for me to study, that’d be wonderful.” She wrapped her arms around herself in glee. “I want to know everything there is to know about alchemy!”

That exclamation made Edward shake his head a little. “What have you been learning, anyway?”

“Mostly green alchemy, you know, helping plants grow?” She skipped again, so she could walk next to Edward, now that the path had widened enough for two people.

“Yeah,” he took a deep breath, glancing around at the gardens pointedly. “I’m not good at that. I’m better with inanimate objects.”

“But you like plants.” Victoria risked pointing at the lavender, still in his hand.

The corners of his mouth tipped up a little and Edward raised the herb to sniff at its fragrance. “Smells like home,” he said, so quietly that Victoria almost didn’t hear him.

* * *

Margot drew her jacket close around her shoulders, shivering. She decided that she was ready to leave this place, right now, even though she wasn’t the one making the decisions. The small military camp was anything but friendly or welcoming to her, despite the fact that she carried off the uniform well. Some of the men looked askance at her; the women ignored her. Sherman didn’t seem to notice and, Margot thought, probably didn’t care. Not that it mattered; he was paying her to travel with him as his adjutant. All she really had to do was fetch and carry; make a few telephone calls. Talk to people.

She could certainly do that.

Information was something that a whorehouse ran on. Miss Lizabet’s house offered that in trade along with flesh. The staff all knew when to talk and when to keep their mouths shut; how to encourage pillow talk and what dribs and drabs of knowledge could be given out…for a price. The same standards held true here, except that she was an outsider, as was Sherman, and while he, with his ranking, had at least a grudging trust from the other soldiers, she did not. Margot knew she’d have to prove herself to them and that was not something she’d ever considered having to do.

At Miss Lizabet’s, it had been easy – give the mark what he wanted. Her own enthusiasm for the game had brought her to Miss Lizabet’s attention and made her a favorite. Sherman liked her for the same reason, which was why he bought out her contract. There was also the information she could offer about Ed, though those nuggets of wisdom were dwindling fast. Still, her accompanying him meant that Sherman was afforded some protection – surely, if he was diddling her, he wasn’t interested in the young male soldiers. And if he wasn’t interested in the young male soldiers, they had nothing to worry about.

Of course, rumors were hard to extinguish.

Leaning her chin in her palm, Margot considered her next move. Flirting openly with Sherman would make the soldiers more suspicious – as his adjutant and very much his junior, it would be possible that someone would take it badly. Margot didn’t want to cause that much trouble, she just wanted information. What little she’d managed to gather told her nothing interesting; certainly didn’t even suggest that Edward Elric had come to Lior since his escape from Miss Lizabet’s house. Margot wasn’t sure where else he might go, either. Possibly back to his home town, wherever that might be; even Central or somewhere else entirely.

“You’re going to make it difficult to track you down, Ed.” Margot drummed the fingers of her free hand on the tabletop. It was time to remind Sherman that they should visit Ed’s hometown. Surely that girl he mooned about was there and if she was, possibly they could find Ed there, too. Then again, there was his brother. Ed had mentioned him a few times at the very beginning of his stay at the house. Maybe they needed to concentrate on finding him and making him lead them to Ed.

Straightening in her chair, Margot decided that would be her suggestion to Sherman. And if that didn’t work, there had to be other people who knew something about the Fullmetal Alchemist.

It was just a matter of finding them and figuring out what they were willing to protect in exchange for that information.

* * *


	36. Chapter 36

* * *

Pride could be scary, Wrath thought, peering out from behind a corner, watching as he marched some girl along the corridor. The girl kept twisting in his grip and Wrath could see the tear tracks speeding down her cheeks. He wondered why she was here. Dante was walking in front of Pride and the girl, and she could be even scarier than Pride. Wrath wasn’t sure whether he should follow them or just go and hide. Sloth, his mommy, would be looking for him, he knew, but she didn’t have time to play right now. And Pride and Dante with this girl – maybe it was a secret. And if he knew what the secret was, he could use it later.

He scrabbled after the trio, keeping low to the ground. It wouldn’t do any good if he was seen, especially if they were keeping this a secret. And wouldn’t Mommy be proud if he told the secret to her?

Maybe it would help them. Maybe this girl would help them be stronger – though Wrath wasn’t sure he believed that. That girl with the sunny yellow hair, she’d been nice to him, she’d taken care of him. So had that lady with the braided hair. Maybe this girl would be nice, too? Girls were nicer, after all, except for Dante. Pride ignored him and Mommy took care of him, but Dante was just plain mean.

Wrath paused, realizing they’d stopped ahead. He’d have to be careful, not get carried away. Crouching down, he peeked out from behind some rubble, watching and listening. He didn’t want Dante to see him and make him leave, not until he knew what the secret was about this girl.

* * *

Rose shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself. She knew she couldn’t get away, not with the tall, broad man following her. Her skin prickled, like someone was watching her. Rose knew that feeling, hated it. It reminded her of Lior. A soft exhalation of a prayer escaped her, a plea. She wanted her baby. She wanted to go home. She didn’t ever want to see Lyra again.

As if she’d heard, Lyra glanced over her shoulder. The slight curl of her lips made Rose’s mouth go dry. Words evaporated, along with any thought she might’ve had of begging for mercy.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Lyra sing-songed, turning completely around to face Rose, her skirts flouncing with the movement. “It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other and we were so close.” The pout didn’t seem faked but Rose shivered anyway, wincing when Lyra brushed a thumb over her cheek. The woman’s touch seemed to burn Rose’s skin. “I knew all your secrets, everything your heart desired.” Lyra smiled then, something that looked real and kind. “What you wanted for your baby. What you wanted for yourself.” She dropped her voice. “What would you say, Rose, if I could bring you your heart’s desire?”

“Y-you can’t.” Rose shook her head, taking a step away from Lyra, smashing into a broad chest and nearly falling. Two hands grasped her upper arms, keeping her upright. She flailed against their grip, images, memories of the soldiers’ touch, the things they did to her, making her squeal and kick in remembered pain. “No! Don’t do this, please!”

“But I want to give you everything you’ve ever wanted.” Lyra walked around her, forcing Rose to turn her head to keep her in sight. She trembled, her knees threatening to give way. If not for the man holding her upright, Rose was sure she’d be in a heap on the dusty floor. “Don’t you want to be with Edward Elric again?”

His name almost seemed a balm to her, a lifeline to grab and hold on to. Rose spoke in a whisper, barely daring to hope. “Where…where is he?” Her hands fluttered up to her chest, fingers twisting together.

Lyra stopped in front of her, a frown lacing her brows together. “You don’t know?”

Rose shook her head slowly. “He…he was in Lior, remember?” Lyra had to remember. Ed had knocked Lyra and Scar out and made some of the Liorans carry them out of the city. Ed was afraid people would get hurt and he didn’t want that to happen. “I haven’t seen him since then. Do you know where he is?”

“This complicates matters.” The man’s voice rumbled up through her back, making Rose twitch uncomfortably. In her hopes of finding out something about Ed, she’d almost forgotten he was there.

“Hush.” Lyra’s amethyst glare ricocheted up to the man’s single eye before darting back down to capture Rose’s gaze again. “Rose, we’ve been looking for Edward, ourselves, but he’s…in hiding. I think he’s trying to find you but not let anyone know. The military, Rose,” Lyra caught hold of her hands, gently pulling her away from the man, “the military is looking for him.”

“But he’s a State Alchemist.” Rose shook her head, her bangs dancing. It made no sense.

“The military wasn’t happy with how he handled Lior, Rose.” Lyra squeezed her hands tight. “That’s why I think he’s trying to find you, so you can explain what happened.”

Rose stared down into Lyra’s eyes. “Me?”

“You were the last one with him before he left Lior. He disappeared right after that, Rose. Vanished.” She released one of Rose’s hands to make a gesture like a flower head opening. “No one’s seen him since.”

Swallowing hard, Rose felt her eyes sting. “He’s not dead!”

Lyra shook her head slowly. “No, no, we never thought he was dead. I’m sorry you came to that conclusion. Edward’s too strong to die.” She glanced at the man behind Rose then brought her gaze back, meeting Rose’s eyes steadily. “But with the military looking for him, I thought he might have contacted you secretly. All we want to do is help him. If you knew where he was, we could offer him that assistance. Or maybe you’d like to search for him yourself. We could help you do that.”

“Where would I even start?” Rose considered the idea, her brow furrowing. “I’d think he’d come to Central.”

“Why?” Lyra tilted her head to the side, a curious expression lighting her face.

Rose shrugged. “Because it’s Central. Where else would he go to clear his name with the military?”

“She does have a point,” the large man said, his voice trailing off as Lyra’s eyes narrowed.

“If he’d never seen you.” The words came out sounding flat and Lyra released Rose’s hands, taking a few steps away, turning her back on them both. “This complicates things.” Folding her arms, she tapped her fingers on her elbows. “Perhaps we should have left him in Sloth’s hands.”

“I need Sloth close. She’s useful, after all.”

Turning back, Lyra sighed. “What’s done is done.” Her expression became distant. “That boy destroyed too much of our family.”

Rose screwed up her face, trying to follow the conversation as it volleyed back and forth. Her head swiveled to watch the pair, her frown deepening as they spoke. “What do you mean? Edward killed someone?” He must have had a good reason. Ed was a good man. He wouldn’t just hurt anyone.

“Yes.” Lyra turned to Rose, almost as if she’d realized she was in the room again. “Edward Elric killed Pride’s siblings,” she gestured to the man, “four of them. Though I have to admit,” her mouth curled faintly, “I did give him the knowledge he needed to destroy the one. Greed was altogether too greedy.”

Shivering, Rose took a step away from Lyra. She had no friends here, she understood that. Lyra had only brought her here because she wanted to find Ed. Stand up and walk, he’d told her, so long ago, and she’d tried, she’d tried so hard to follow his example. Biting back a sob, Rose clenched her fists. What would he do now, surrounded by his enemies, in a place like this room? “Even if I knew where Ed was, I wouldn’t tell you!”

Lyra sighed. “I thought you might say that.” With a dismissive wave of her hand, she spun on her heel. “Take care of her, Pride.”

Rose felt her heart beat slow as the tall man turned her way. Her memory plastered the face of every soldier who’d raped her onto his body. The underground room seemed to have gotten very cold and Rose was sure she’d have frostbite. Her limbs felt frozen and didn’t want to move, no matter how much she tried to make them. For every stumbling step she managed to take away from the man, he seemed to move that much closer.

“You won’t suffer.” The promise fell like stones in her skull, rattling around and echoing there.

“No.” As she backed away, Rose stumbled on the uneven flooring, almost falling. She crashed into the wall, her hands grasping at it, scrabbling on the old plaster as she tried to keep her footing.

“I’m sorry, my dear.” The tall man showed her a sword, the point of it drenched in scarlet, the rich color saturating the wavering air around the blade. “But there really was no other way.”

* * *

Wrath slapped his hands over his mouth to keep from yelling. Pride was so fast! Wrath hadn’t even seen him draw his sword and it was just there, in his hand, with blood dripping down the blade. Pride watched the girl tumble to the floor, his face like a statue. Wrath was glad Pride never looked at him that way. It was scary, even scarier than the way Dante scowled at him. He wished he knew why Pride killed the lady. She might’ve been able to tell them where that Edward was. Maybe she was like Mommy and knew that sort of thing but was keeping it a secret.

Now, they’d never find that out.

“Oh.”

The voice made Wrath jump, sending his back against the wall. He recognized the big man, sort of. He flinched when the man ruffled his hair as he walked past, then craned out far enough to look through the doorway.

The big man frowned down at the lady. He took off his glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. “Pride, I don’t understand why you killed her.”

“Dante’s orders, Hohenheim.” Pride wiped his sword the same way the big man wiped his glasses.

Hohenheim was a funny name and Wrath said it to himself a few times. Before he knew it, he was giggling and he had to cover his mouth again.

Pride stuck the sword back in its sheath. “And now, I have a country to run.” Turning on his heel, he marched out of the room, leaving Hohenheim behind with the dead lady.

“You can come out now, Wrath. Everyone’s gone.”

Wrath peered through the door, surprised that Hohenheim knew he was still there. A little afraid, he crept out until he stood near the lady’s feet. He thought she had pretty hair and wondered if he could make his hair look like that.

“She was a very sweet girl.” Hohenheim squatted, moving the lady’s hair off her face. “I’m sorry, Rose. I should probably let you rest in peace but we’re in need of more of our family.” He smiled at Wrath. “Maybe you’d like a sister, hmm?”

“Her?” Wrath kicked his bare foot against the lady’s shoe, wrinkling his nose.

“Yes.” Hohenheim pulled a piece of chalk out of his pocket – a trick! Wrath was surprised Hohenheim knew one – and started drawing on the floor. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you a piece of chalk to draw, son, but I’m afraid this is a little complicated and I have to make sure I do it right.”

Wrath stepped back, standing in the doorway arch, his lower lip stuck out in a pout. As he watched Hohenheim draw, he realized something, lifting his foot to stare at the red mark on it. “You’re really gonna make her one of us?”

Hohenheim sat back, dusting his hands off. “That’s right, son.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose, tossing the piece of chalk to Wrath. He fumbled the chalk but caught it without dropping it, holding it up and grinning. Hohenheim smiled back. “Just watch.” Digging his right thumb down the center of his left palm, Hohenheim dripped a couple drops of blood onto the circle. A light flared up, making Wrath jump back, though Hohenheim didn’t seem to notice, putting his hands down on the circle itself.

A funny smell made Wrath sneeze twice. By the time he’d wiped his nose on the back of his hand, the light from the circle had gotten brighter. Wind whipped around the room, making Wrath’s hair tangle in front of his face. He shoved the strands from his eyes while taking a step out of the room. Whatever was going on, he didn’t want to be caught up and sucked into that wind.

The light got even brighter. A sound, like a crash of thunder, sent Wrath out of the room, eyes wide and chest heaving. It shouldn’t sound like that inside! He heard another roar and dropped to his haunches, covering his head. The light from in the room sneaked between his closed eyelids. Whimpering, Wrath curled into a tighter ball. He wanted to make it stop. It hurt inside him, where his heart thudded so hard against his chest. His fingernails cut into his skin and tears rushed down his cheeks. The sound, the sensations, coming from that room, it reminded him of that place, that place he’d stayed at for so long, with the white white white going on forever and that strange little boy, who said such awful things, and the hands that never ever let go –

“It’s all right now, Wrath.” A hand patted his shoulder and Wrath carefully uncurled, rubbing his wet eyes and mouth. Hohenheim smiled at him but it wasn’t the friendly grin from earlier. Still, it was a smile and Wrath couldn’t help but smile back. When Hohenheim offered Wrath his hand, he took it, letting the big man pull him to his feet. “Come in, Wrath.” He tugged Wrath into the room, where nothing had changed and everything had. The scent of blood was gone but the lady still lay there on the floor. Wrath gasped as her pretty hair changed colors in front of him, starting from the roots and spilling down to the ends, becoming dark as night. Her bangs changed color, too, the pink being submerged by a color that reminded Wrath of algae on a stagnant pond.

The lady’s eyes opened, blinking a few times, and she raised her hand, slowly tracing the line of her ribs. Her palm stopped on the bloody spot on her dress, fingers exploring the rent in the fabric. “I died.” She sat up suddenly, so fast Wrath jumped back. Her eyes wide, she twisted her body, trying to get a good look at her side. “I died.” Her hands fluttered up to her face, pulling at her skin, pinching her cheeks. “I died!”

“Hush, now.” Hohenheim caught the lady’s hands, pulling them away. “It’s all right. You came back.”

She raised her eyes to him, tears running down her cheeks. “He was wrong?”

“Who?” Hohenheim patted her hands, rubbing the backs of them with his thumb. Wrath crept a little closer, looking over the big man’s shoulder at the lady. Her hair was pretty still, he thought, in a different way. “Who was wrong?”

“Edward.” Something scary happened to her face. “He told me people couldn’t come back from the dead. Why did he say that?” Her teeth glittered, reminding Wrath of Envy’s smile when he was really mad. “Why did he lie like that?”

“Edward Elric?” Wrath clenched his fists. “I want him dead!”

“Easy, both of you.” Though Hohenheim spoke softly, Wrath felt like he was yelling. How was he so scary, anyway? “Edward’s right. Most of the time, you can’t bring anyone back from the dead.” His expression strained, he went on, “Not and have them be the same person as the one who is dead, at least.”

“I’m not the same?” The lady looked so dumb then, it was all Wrath could do not to laugh at her.

“No, I’m sorry, you’re not. You’re not human any more, Rose.” Hohenheim rubbed his thumbs over the backs of her hands again and let them go. “You’re not Rose any more. You’re a homunculus.”

“A what?”

“You’re like Wrath, here.” Hohenheim patted him on the shoulder. “Someone tried to bring him back from the dead.”

“What does this mean?” Lifting her hands, the lady turned them over, looking at the red mark on the inside of the left one.

Wrath raised his foot, sticking it toward the lady’s face. “Means you’re like me.” She pulled back a little, her nose wrinkling, and Wrath stomped his foot down on the floor.

“So if I’m not Rose anymore,” she stared at the mark on her palm, using the first finger of her left hand to trace it, “who am I?”

Hohenheim got to his feet, smiling a little. “I guess we’ll find out in good time.” He offered her his hand and the lady took it, letting him help her up. “Just one question.” She looked at him, brushing her bangs out of her eyes impatiently. “Were you and Edward Elric actually romantically involved?”

A slow curl of her mouth made Wrath shiver and want to step back outside of the room. He’d seen a smile like that before and it scared him just as much then, even though it had been on someone else’s face.

“What’s wrong, old man, are you jealous?” She flipped her hair back over her shoulders, pulling loose from Hohenheim.

“Not in the least.” He slid his hands in his pockets. His grin wasn’t scary at all to look at but there was something in his eyes that made Wrath want to never get Hohenheim angry at him. “But I would like an answer to my question.”

The lady reached over, tousling Wrath’s hair. He tried to smooth it back into place, giving her a nasty look that made her laugh. “Want all you like, old man. Some things,” she leaned down, wrapping an arm around Wrath’s shoulders, “are secrets, right, kid?”

* * *

It was difficult not to smile at the sight of Major Armstrong awaiting her at her husband’s grave. He inclined his head to her as she approached, stepping aside so Gracia could pay her respects to the empty grave. A spray of red tulips already brightened Maes’ headstone, providing a contrast to the lilies she placed next to them. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Lies, of course, but necessary. There were other mourners close by and Gracia knew better than to alert them to anything unusual. She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, keeping a close hold on the frilly piece of cotton.

“I’m afraid that I have been remiss in paying my respects,” Alex Louis said, his moustache bristling. “Time has gotten away from me.”

“Yes, I’m afraid it gets away from all of us.” Gracia patted the granite stone familiarly. It seemed far too normal to her now, that the stone with her husband’s name on it marked nothing. The fewer people who knew that, the better, though she wished that certain people could be told.

“Perhaps, Mrs. Hughes, you would like to share a cup of tea with me? I know an excellent café, not too far away.” At her slight hesitation, Alex Louis offered his arm. “I promise, there are also lovely pastries. None so delicious as your apple pies, however, you should come with me. It’s a beautiful day and you deserve a respite.”

“When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” Gracia slipped her hand through his crooked arm, letting him lead her from the tombstone. The walk to the café was indeed pleasant. Alex Louis had always been a charming man, Gracia thought. If it was believed he might be visiting with his previous commander’s wife for reasons other than paying his respects, she wouldn’t mind.

Their chatter was just that, a simple conversation between two people who enjoyed each other’s company. The Major promised to bring slips of cuttings to her to plant in her garden and praised her for the roses he’d seen growing there earlier. Gracia offered in return to make him a peach cobbler, something different than her usual apple pie.

They stopped in the café, ordering tea and pastries, and chatted as they drank and ate. If anyone had been listening, Gracia was sure they would’ve been bored with Alex Louis’ questions about Elicia and tales about his sister, Olivia, who was known as ‘the Wall of Briggs’, and commanded the troops stationed in the Briggs Mountains.

“She sounds daunting, Major.” Gracia took a sip of her rose tea, thinking that he was right, this was an exceptional café. If only she had found out about it prior to Maes’ ‘death’ or before Roy and Riza went into hiding.

“My eldest sister is a strong willed individual, well equipped to handle anything that Drachma might decide to toss her way.” Alex Louis smoothed his moustache with his napkin, cleaning away any crumbs from his cream cheese puff. “I am afraid she lives up to all my family’s expectations.” There was a hint of sorrow in his voice, as if he had failed to do the same.

Gracia knew Alex Louis had returned from the wars a shattered man. His heart was too big for such a thing as destroying another race. Maes, Roy and Riza had suffered as well, not just from the war but from the predations of Sherman. Her knuckles whitened as she thought of that evil man, of how Sherman had now hurt another person she cared about. It had to stop, Gracia told herself, he must be stopped before he touched another young man.

If only she had a way to accomplish that. Who would believe her, though? Alex Louis, certainly, but this was something that they needed to take care of together. Sherman had nearly succeeded in destroying Roy, once a long time ago; now he’d harmed Ed, too.

“Mrs. Hughes? Are you feeling quite all right?” Alex Louis’ hand gently wrapped around her own, a comforting sensation of strength and warmth. “You look pale. Should I call you a cab?”

“No, I’m sorry, Major.” Gracia mustered a smile for him. “Dismal thoughts do not belong to such a lovely day.”

“But for a wife still grieving.” His eyes warmed with compassion and Gracia thought that Maes had been correct in requesting Alex Louis work with him in Investigations. Maybe the Armstrong family had a long history of acting abilities, too, but she would be willing to wager Alex Louis was a far sight more talented at it than his militant sister in Briggs. “It is difficult, I’m sure.”

Gracia lowered her head slightly, playing the part. “It has been hard. Elicia has so many questions I can’t answer.” That much was certainly true. “She wants to know when her Daddy is coming home.” She wasn’t the only one, either but at least Gracia knew the truth. Lying to Elicia wasn’t easy but little girls didn’t know the real meaning of ‘secrets’, either. And, Gracia thought wryly, probably wouldn’t until she was a teen and wanting to keep secrets from her parents. “And speaking of my little girl, I should be collecting her from her sitter.” Gracia allowed Alex Louis to assist her from her chair, protesting when he insisted he would pay for their refreshments and the pastries he bought not only for Elicia, but her sitter and Gracia as well.

He walked her part of the way home before taking his polite leave, bowing his head over Gracia’s hand in a formal goodbye. Gracia almost wished she could send Elicia to the Armstrong mansion, if her daughter could learn such manners. Though who knew what else she might learn there, she thought, with a shake of her head.

As she rounded the corner of her block, Gracia saw someone standing at the door of the house. Schooling the frown from her face, she pushed open the gate, thinking she needed to oil it soon. Then again, it was an excellent alarm, that particular squeal. “Mr. Todd?”

He gave her a weary smile, nodding at her greeting. “I apologize for coming over without contacting you first, Mrs. Hughes.”

“No, that’s quite all right.” Gracia unlocked the door and the young man held it open for her, allowing her to enter the house. She beckoned him inside, heading automatically for the kitchen. Mr. Todd followed her slowly, the sound of his tentative footsteps nothing like the rumble of Elicia’s pounding feet or Maes’ firm strides. Gracia swung the tea kettle over the burner, lighting it with a match. Tea would probably do the young man some good. Perhaps even one of Alex Louis’ pastries. “Come in, Mr. Todd, and have a seat.”

He all but tumbled into a chair, his elbows on the table, hands clasped tight. Mr. Todd pressed his forehead against his thumbs. “I’m not sure why I’m here, really, Mrs. Hughes.” His laugh was soft and short. “I’ve been trying to find out what happened to Miss Sciezca and her mother but all the information has dried up.”

Gracia took down a teapot and some cups, setting out a bowl of sugar and fetching some cream from the ice box. “You might find that to be,” she hesitated, “dangerous, trying to track them down.”

Mr. Todd made a self-depreciating noise. “Who am I to be a threat to anyone? I just want to know what happened to my patient.” His dark eyes rose to meet hers. “But you seem to know something.”

She knew that expression, having seen it far too many times on Maes’ face. “Only that my husband was in Investigations and that seemed to be the reason he was killed.” Her words came out sharper than Gracia wanted but they seemed to have the right effect on the young man at her table.

“I’m sorry.” Mr. Todd sagged back in his chair. “I shouldn’t have intruded.” His hands fell onto the tabletop, the forefinger of his left hand tracing the grain of the wood. “I just didn’t know where else to go. My parents, my family; they don’t really understand.” He laced his fingers together again. “I wanted to be more than a cattle farmer. Nelly – she has more interest in livestock than I ever did. She’s good with the cows.”

Gracia made a noncommittal noise in response, fetching the whistling kettle off the burner and turning the gas flame off. She poured the hot water in the pot to warm it. “Mr. Todd, I’m afraid I know absolutely nothing about cattle except they travel in herds and we get milk from them.” Pouring the water out of the warmed pot, Gracia added tea leaves and poured the rest of the hot water over them.

“That’s pretty much all I’d like to know about them, believe me.” Mr. Todd shivered exaggeratedly. “Dumb, smelly beasts.” His expression seemed a bit lighter than it had when she’d first seen him though as he realized he’d lost his original train of thought, his brows furrowed again. “I don’t know what to do, Mrs. Hughes. Miss Sciezca was a kind person who obviously cared very much for her mother. I don’t like not knowing where they are.”

Bowing her head, Gracia whispered, “You should probably stop wondering, Mr. Todd. Even if it hurts, you should try to forget them.” The sweet scent of the steeping tea was at odds with her harsh words. “Don’t try to follow their trail. It could lead to more pain for you and for your family.” She looked up then, fixing him with her gaze. “Believe me, Mr. Todd, you do not want that.”

“Then can you answer me one thing, Mrs. Hughes?” His dark eyes studied her closely. “Since you are their friend, can you tell me what happened to Alphonse Elric and Winry Rockbell?”

* * *

The building was quiet, drenched in the hazy glow of the pre-dawn. Izumi sat at the table in the kitchen, her rough fingers caressing the scarred wood. It was sturdy and functional, like most of the items in house. Only in the bedrooms did a desire for comfort come into play. Roy and Riza’s – Shen and Carol’s – room definitely was designed for comfort, with the satiny sheets and overabundance of pillows. Luxurious didn’t quite describe that room though ‘overblown’ did come to Izumi’s mind.

The smoky scent of tea rose in a tendril of steam and she took a sip of the dark brew. The flavor reminded her of certain spices used to flavor beef. It was a pleasant way to wake up and, Izumi thought, another expensive comfort. It suited Mustang’s new persona, though, as did some of the other features of the house’s interior.

On the other hand, the exterior was reminiscent of his previous life though it took a good eye to see the fortifications that had been made to the building and its courtyard walls. The cactus and yucca plants provided a simple yet effective deterrent to someone scaling the walls, though an alchemist would be able to kill the plants if the thought came up there was something important behind them. Of course, the walls themselves didn’t offer any indication there might be anything of interest behind them. They appeared cracked and crumbling, as did the walls to the house itself. The two dogs provided a warning system nearly as old as time and Roy had mentioned that he thought another pair of dogs would be a good idea. The neighbors themselves were curious and friendly – always an excellent deterrent in and of themselves – and because they were also mechanics and surgeons and automailers, they worked all hours of the day and night. Someone was always on the street or in a shop or looking out a window and Shen and Carol had been quick to cultivate their neighbors as inadvertent allies. It was sound military practice, Izumi was sure, and Alphonse had fallen into it easily enough. Of course, he was a sweet-natured young man and might not realize why they were becoming such close friends with the neighbors. Taking a sip of her tea, Izumi decided it was doubtful Winry knew, either. The girl was naturally friendly and helpful and her neighbors – and automail mechanic who had accepted her apprenticeship – all touted her generous nature.

My apprentice was an idiot, Izumi thought, taking another swallow of her tea. The soft jingle alerted Izumi that she was coming. Rising, she moved to intercept Winry as the girl opened the door to let the dogs into the courtyard. “I need to speak to you.”

Those guileless blue eyes stared up at her. They were so open, so easy to read. Right now, they evidenced confusion and concern. “Are you feeling okay, Mrs. Curtis? I know Al told me you were sick.” Her mouth tightened slightly. “I don’t really know a lot about medicine, that was Granny’s specialty, but I’d do my best to help you.”

The girl was sweet, perhaps too kind to be in the situation she was currently in. Life and death happened, however, and Izumi knew all too well what became of those who tried to change its path. “It’s not something you can do to help me, Winry.”

“No?” Obviously confused, Winry rocked back on her heels, jingling.

“You can do it to help Alphonse.”

That got her attention, her gentle, concerned eyes sharpening to pinpoints. “What do you mean?”

Izumi gave her a smile, meant to be reassuring. From the girl’s expression, it was anything but. “Did you think no one would notice your jewelry?” Winry’s eyes widened, her gaze dropping down to her right ankle and the chain stretched around it, a charm dangling above her heel. Izumi’s lowered her head as well, raising it as Winry lifted her chin. “That symbol you’re wearing, did you think that someone wouldn’t recognize it?”

“It’s usually covered up by my boot.” Her arms crossed over her chest, evidence of stubborn determination stamped across her face.

“This symbol?” Izumi tapped the tattoo on her upper breast. “The one that Ed wore on his jacket? What if an accident happened and someone removed your shoe and sock? Are you willing to take a chance that such a symbol, something that Edward Elric wore – flaunted – wouldn’t be recognized? That someone might wonder why you had it?”

Jaw clenching, Winry muttered, “I thought it was an alchemic symbol.”

“And you’re no alchemist.” Izumi liked the girl but that didn’t mean she should be taking chances without anyone telling her of the dangers.

“No.” She raised her chin a little higher. “But I’m studying alchemy.”

Whatever Winry had been about to say, that was not what Izumi expected. She blinked at Winry, stunned into silence, trying that idea on for size. “You?” she finally sputtered out.

“Me.” Her mouth tightened. “Don’t get me wrong, Mrs. Curtis. I’m not an alchemist. I know I’m never going to be one. I’m an engineer. But,” and here, Winry swallowed, her face becoming troubled and sad, “I want to know what it means. I want to understand what the circles are for. It’s science; it’s not scary.” Izumi wasn’t sure if Winry was saying that to herself or not. “I just need to know.” Her voice broke off abruptly and Winry glanced away, blinking her eyes hard.

“I see.” _I had the stupidest apprentice,_ Izumi thought, laying a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. He couldn’t see what was right in front of his eyes. “Why don’t you get the books you’re studying and I’ll help you.”

Her reward was Winry’s smile, strained, but still like the sight of the sun after a heavy storm. “Thank you, Mrs. Curtis. I’d like that a lot.”

* * *


	37. Chapter 37

* * *

A clock ticked its slow way through the hour and the young man appeared to doze over the book in front of him, completely ignoring the girl sitting to his left at the end of the table. The sound of pencil scratching over rough paper filled the quiet room, drowned out occasionally by a snore from the man. A particularly loud snort made him jerk his head up, blinking his eyes. He glanced toward the clock, scrubbing at the left side of his face, yawning loudly. “Are you done yet?”

Victoria shot Ed a look that could have been considered venomous. “Almost.” Her pencil made another mark.

Ed stretched his arms over his head, shoving his chair back and getting out of it. “Let’s see what you’ve got so far.” He prowled around the table, his hands clasped behind his back, to peer over Victoria’s shoulder. She rounded her back as if she didn’t want him to look. With a snort, Ed poked her in the ribs, sending Victoria yelping sideways to avoid another poke. Ed snatched the paper, ignoring the librarian’s hiss at their noise and neatly sidestepping Victoria’s attempt to grab it back. “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Victoria’s voice rose shrilly only to drop again at the librarian’s shush. “What’s wrong with it?”

“You missed a rune, here.” Ed laid the paper out next to her, tapping the edge of the circle. “Unless you’re trying to make the soil into concrete.”

Victoria stared at his finger then at the books layered across the table. With a grumble, she grabbed the one closest to her, flipping through the pages as Ed sauntered around the table, heading for the window so he could look outside. Peeling the curtain back, he let the warmth of the sun heat his face, his eyes half-closed against its brilliance. When they’d adjusted, he stared out over the city.

The city wasn’t one he knew, at least, not yet. Who knew how long they’d stay here in Harperstown. They’d been moving around a lot, not staying in one place longer than a month. Hughes seemed to be enjoying it but he got to spend a lot of time out in the actual city with Opal and Cashern. The three of them were…busy doing something. Ed wasn’t quite sure what. Hughes hadn’t exactly told him but Ed knew that whatever it was, it probably didn’t bode too well for the Amestrian government.

At least he was still able to do some research. Opal had agreed that it was a good idea that Ed help Victoria with her alchemy, which gave him an excuse to browse the libraries in the cities they visited. Some of the towns were too small for their own libraries, reminding him of Rezembool, though Harperstown had two libraries and half of one was devoted to alchemy. “Did you find the rune?”

Victoria muttered something in response. Ed smirked at his reflection in the window. She hated being proven wrong but she’d learned quickly if Ed said there was a mistake in her transmutation circles, she should listen. He’d made that very clear by letting her activate some of her less dangerous errors, just so she could see, then showing her what she’d done wrong. Victoria learned from the mistakes; she never seemed to make the same one twice. Hughes, when Ed mentioned it to him, said that was a sign of a good teacher. Ed wasn’t so sure about that but let it go. He thought Victoria was a good student and quick to learn, she just needed someone to point out her mistakes before she did something spectacularly stupid.

A chime sounded, a three note tone. Edward let the curtain close. The chime meant the library would be closing in ten minutes. He hated leaving the books out despite the library’s rules. The thought had come to him that someone could be interested in what he and Victoria were studying. “C’mon, let’s put these up and we’ll get something to eat.”

After reshelving the books, Edward and Victoria walked out of the library, both of them carrying notebooks, pens and pencils tucked into pockets in Ed’s case and in Victoria’s purse. The orange sun was setting, the buildings casting dark purple shadows down on the streets. Spires pointed toward the few clouds streaking the sky. Victoria’s boots rapped on the sidewalk, a counterpoint to Ed’s leather-soled scuff as she walked beside him. Ed could feel her glances but paid them no mind. Victoria was always watching him. She had no idea why it bothered him and why he’d eventually snap at her to look at something else. The tickle between his shoulder blades meant he’d be snapping soon and, rather than bite Victoria’s head off, Ed picked up his pace.

“Yo, Eric!”

Ed felt some of the tension leave his body at Hughes’ shout. He affected a slouch as Victoria caught up to him. At least she wouldn’t be staring at him if Opal was going over what she’d learned today. Edward wished he saw Cashern with Opal and Hughes. Right now, he thought sparring would probably help settle him down.

_Admit it,_ a voice whispered in his ear, _you’re lost without your brother._

The sound was the servos in his automail straining in response to Ed clenching his fist. He forced his hand to relax. Shoving the nearly destroyed notebook in his jacket pocket, Ed knew that Hughes would still notice and ask him about it later.

_And you’re too scared to go to him. Afraid of what he’d think of you, being dirty. You’re not the brave big brother any more, are you?_ The snake in his stomach twitched. _You’re nothing. Not the Fullmetal Alchemist, not any more. You’re a coward, hiding away in this backwater town._

Ed shook his head, trying to drive out that voice. That isn’t true, he thought.

_Prove it. Go back to Rush Valley. Go to Alphonse and Winry and explain to them why you didn’t let them know you were alive._

“Eric?” He jerked at the feel of a hand on his shoulder, nearly punching Hughes in the gut. “Whoa! Hey, now, what’s all that about?” Hughes caught him before he could pull away, holding Ed in place. “Are you okay, son?”

Ducking his head, Ed turned his face from Hughes, not wanting the man to see what was in his eyes. “Fine.” The mutter wouldn’t stop Hughes from worrying but it would put him off for a while.

_You’re not fine. You’re sick. You’re filthy. Everything you touch turns to crap. Look at how happy your brother and Winry are, now that you’re out of their lives. Pinako died because of you. Sciezka, too, and yet here you are, still walking around. How do you live with yourself? The pollution in your soul ought to make you decay right now. You should rid this world of it, make your lies the truth._

“Okay,” Hughes couldn’t keep that concerned tone out of his voice. “Well, let’s go and get something to eat, huh? I’m starving.” He gestured at Opal, already talking to Victoria, maybe about what they’d been researching in the library today. “Opal found a nice little restaurant, we thought we’d try it.” His hand hovered over Ed’s back, the heat of it radiating through the jacket’s fabric and down in to Ed’s skin. “You ready?”

_Ready to coat your world with more lies?_

Ed grimaced, clutching at his stomach. “…don’t think I should eat anything right now.” Dammit, now Hughes really was worried, squinting at him like that.

“Are you sure?” He tried to pull a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re a growing boy, after all. I know I was always hungry at your age.”

“I’ll get something in the café later.” Ed twitched sideways, out of Hughes’ reach. “Really.” He risked a glance up, meeting Hughes’ eyes before dropping his gaze again. “I’ll be okay. You go have fun.”

“Maybe I should stay with you.” Hughes fingered his chin, his expression too fixed for Ed’s liking.

_Yes, you two can talk about what a mess you’ve made of his life, too. He could’ve returned to his wife and kid, but no, he’s here, babysitting your sorry ass. You think he likes cleaning up after you? Listening to your nightmares? Taking care of you when he’s got that little girl of his, the one he loves? What’s in it for him, anyway? Did you ever think maybe he likes you _that_ way?_

“Eric,” Hughes laid his hands on Ed’s shoulders. “I really think I should stay with you.”

Fighting to keep from jerking away, Ed swallowed hard. “No…Dad. It’s okay. I just need a little time, all right?” He couldn’t look up at Hughes, could barely focus on the bricks in the building next to him. The snake twisted inside his stomach so much, Ed was surprised his belly didn’t protrude out of his shirt. He whispered, “Please, Hughes,” barely loud enough to even hear the words himself.

Hughes narrowed his eyes, his lower lip jutting out. Ed thought, a stray, wild comment, that the man’s chin looked naked without that scruff of hair on it. “I don’t think I like this idea, Eric. You’ve been cooped up in that library all day - ”

“With Victoria.” Ed nodded at the girl, standing with Olivia.

“Conversation and a change of scenery would be good for you,” Hughes went on doggedly.

Ed tried not to scowl. “So would some peace and quiet.”

Eyebrows reaching for his dyed red hair, Hughes glanced toward Victoria. “She likes you, son.” He said it like it was something Ed hadn’t realized.

_She doesn’t realize how dirty you are._

Ignoring the snake’s voice, Edward nodded curtly. “I know. I’m…aware of that.” And nothing was going to happen, he thought, except for helping her with her alchemy studies.

Hughes sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Fine, you can stay here. You’re going to miss a really nice meal, though.” His expression became more calculating. “In fact, you could use a good meal.”

“No!” Ed skipped out of the range of Hughes’ long arms. “I’m okay. I told you, I’d get something at the café if I get hungry. Dad.” He punctuated that last word with sarcasm. _Back off, Hughes, please._

The corners of his mouth turned down and Hughes shoved his glasses up on his nose. With a long sigh, he glanced over his shoulder at Olivia and Cashern. “You’re sure?” He looked back at Ed.

Ed hated that he was disappointing Hughes. Hated it. He opened his mouth to say he’d go when Hughes ruffled his hair. “I’ll see you later, then, kiddo. Be good.”

Ducking his head, Edward scowled, trying to smooth out his hair. “Always!” He showed a few extra teeth for emphasis, ignoring the snake’s hiss of, _Liar._

Hughes chuckled, waving as he strolled to where Opal waited. “I’ll believe that when I see it, Eric.” He and the others exchanged a few words, Opal turning her gaze Ed’s way. He remained where he was, despite the silent order in her expression. If Hughes said he didn’t have to join them, Ed wasn’t. Unable to keep up the staring contest with Opal, he looked away, hearing Hughes call a farewell. Ed waved once and started for the hotel.

_You’re such a little liar. How is it you even have friends any more?_

He wished he could ignore the snake and the nausea building in his stomach. Edward tried to cover it up with fury but that didn’t work – the only thing he had to be angry about was himself. The snake hissed its amusement but Ed ignored it the best he could. He stormed through the doors of the hotel, charging up the stairs to the room. It took a few times to get the key into the lock, his hands shook so hard. When he finally got into the room, he managed to close the door without slamming it, remembering there might be people in the other rooms.

The snake had no such reservations, spilling poisonous words into Ed’s ears. He snarled in response, slamming his hand into the table hard enough that the wood groaned under his fist. _You think that helps? Pathetic._

“Shut up.” Edward shook his head savagely, trying to rid it of the sound of the snake’s voice.

_You’re just good for one thing, little dog._ Images flashed in Ed’s mind, memories of that place, of that bastard touching him. Ed shoved his fist in his mouth, biting down on it so he wouldn’t puke all over the floor. He crashed to his knees, his stomach heaving, the snake pushing its way up his throat. Bile spilled from his mouth and Edward heaved again, nose and eyes running.

He could feel the vibration of the snake’s chuckle in his throat. Ed shook his head, bangs sticking to his sweating face. “No.” The syllable came out weak and shaky. “No!” Slamming his fist onto the floorboard, he repeated it again. “No!”

“Shut up!” The wall next to his head erupted in rapping, sending Ed sprawling backward. His neighbor pounded a few more times then silenced and Ed slid a few more steps away.

His heart throbbed in his chest, beating so hard and fast, it felt like it might tear free. Breaths came in shallow puffs of air. Ed ignored the snake’s chuckle as he managed to claw himself to his feet, nearly unable to keep his footing, then staggering to the tiny bath to wash up. At least, he thought, he didn’t have to share it with anyone else.

Cleaning the floor didn’t take very long – water, soap, towels and the judicious application of alchemy made the floor – and Ed’s coat – cleaner than they’d been just a short time before. There was a laundry chute at the end of the hall and Ed bundled up the dirty linens to send them to the basement, leaving the door cracked behind him when he ventured outside. His mouth tasted foul and he promised himself he’d brush his teeth and gargle when he returned to the room.

_Why? It isn’t like there’s anyone who’d care._ The snake twisted and curled in his stomach.

Edward swallowed hard. “I care,” he growled, albeit weakly. Halfway back to the room he shared with Hughes, the sight of a newspaper folded outside another room caught his eyes. The headline, even half-folded, almost stopped him dead. Instead, with a quick glance in either direction, Ed swept up the folded paper, tucking it under his arm, and walking steadily back to his room.

With a ‘click’, the door closed behind him and Ed leaned against it, his knees locked and bracing him up as he unfurled the paper. The pages rattled softly in his trembling hands.

_FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SIGHTED IN LIOR_ the black ink screamed across the top of the page. Underneath the header, in smaller letters, the paper asked, _Rumors of Death Greatly Exaggerated?_

_Not really. A coward dies a thousand thousand times._ The snake chuckled. _What if your little brother saw this? Or Winry?_

That thought nearly dropped Ed to the floor. The paper crumpled in his hands. No, no, they were smarter than that. They wouldn’t believe what they read, would they? Would they?

_Only if they’re as stupid as you._

He pushed off the door, wadding up the paper and throwing it across the room. It bounced off the wall, rolling almost all the way back to his feet from the force of his throw but Ed was already moving, halfway across the room before the paper stopped. Hauling his suitcase out from under the bed, he opened it. There wasn’t much to pack. He’d always traveled light. The bad thing was a lack of money. Ed knew he couldn’t access his State Alchemist account and Opal had been funding everything. That didn’t mean he didn’t know where Hughes kept some spare sens. Feeling only the faintest twinge of guilt for raiding the money, Edward promised himself he’d make it up to Hughes, after he made sure Al and Winry weren’t in Lior, looking for him.

Taking a quick, last look around, Ed nodded once to his reflection and locked the door behind him as he walked out of the room.

* * *

Michael Todd stared down at his hands. They were steady, as benefited a physician, though he thought they should be shaking with what he’d learned today. It had taken some convincing on his behalf for Mrs. Hughes to trust him but, in the end, she did, at least with some information.

What he’d learned had nearly made him sick.

The idea that Miss Sciezca and her mother were probably dead frightened Michael more than he wanted to even consider. He’d spilt the tea Mrs. Hughes had poured for him, nearly upset the table when he tried to leap out of his chair. It made him feel small to think about it, especially when Mrs. Hughes remained calm, at least outwardly. She had cleaned up his mess and poured him another cup of tea, not even upset that her cup had been chipped by his violent reaction.

Maybe she’d had longer to get used to the idea, Michael thought, but it still gave him cold chills. He could feel goosebumps on his chest and forearms. His stomach seemed to be knotted with cold, wet towels. He kept wiping his mouth and forehead, even though his face wasn’t sweating. But his hands remained steady – a very small favor.

Michael nearly laughed at that but kept control of himself. Hilarity could just as easily turn to something else – a manic reaction that could be difficult to explain to the chief of staff at the hospital. He needed this job. He wanted this job. Helping people had been his dream and medicine seemed the best way to do it for a boy who didn’t like playing soldier as a kid. Michael shifted uncomfortably at the memory of teasing the Elric brothers and even Winry when their parents died. Kids are cruel, even when their parents tell them not to be. It was almost as if they could sense weakness and it drove them to the attack. Michael remembered Ed fighting him over some slight – he couldn’t remember what it might have been over, any more. Winry? Alphonse? Had there been more than one fight? He squirmed, thinking that yes, there probably had been. He’d been a mean kid, a bully, if truth be told. Funny, after beating up other kids, that he’d wind up a doctor.

He wished he’d known the Elrics better. Nelly was closer to their age, well, Alphonse’s and Winry’s, now, being younger than him by a couple of years. He knew – everyone in Rezembool knew – Edward had joined the military, though no one really cared. He was still just that short blond kid to a lot of them, the one with the brother, no father, no mother, both of them training to be alchemists. Michael had heard word of them repairing barns that collapsed during storms and other stuff but he’d never really paid any attention to it. Who cared about alchemy? Human bodies were far more interesting. Definitely more interesting than cows.

Nelly could take over the farm, as far as he was concerned. Maybe she’d marry another local boy and their parents would all be happy. Michael didn’t want to return to Rezembool, with that stench of lanolin and sheep dung perfuming the air. And the rainy seasons in the fall through the winter and spring, where mud was everywhere and where it wasn’t, water was rising – no, Michael didn’t miss that at all. Central City seemed like a magical world compared to the countryside of Rezembool, where half of the houses still had outhouses and had to pump water from the well. He knew the Rockbell house had running water and toilets – then again, Pinako Rockbell had been Rezembool’s surgeon. She had the money to pay for that sort of amenities, not to mention wanting the best to care for her patients.

Of course, Pinako Rockbell was gone now, too. Michael didn’t really want to think about that, though Mrs. Hughes had told him Dr. Rockbell had died here in Central. Michael hadn’t even seen the news in the papers. He couldn’t help but wonder how Winry and Alphonse had taken the news. Bad enough that Ed died in Lior, Pinako Rockbell gone, too? That was almost enough to destroy someone.

They’d lost so much already, those two kids. Parents, grandmother, brother. Michael shook his head. Even as distant as he felt to his family, he hated to think about the day when his mother and father wouldn’t be around any more, when it would just be Nelly and him. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be for a long time, Michael told himself. The funeral of a parent – or Nelly – wasn’t something he wanted to even contemplate. Bad enough to hear about Dr. Rockbell’s and Ed’s.

He bit his lower lip. Wasn’t Ed buried somewhere in town? Maybe he should go pay his respects. It was the least he could do, one country boy to another.

But not right now. Michael shook off his thoughts, realizing he’d been staring at the same chart for some time now, not comprehending the words written on the page. Now he needed to concentrate on his job and the people he could actually help, not a boy buried in the ground.

* * *

Maes knocked lightly on the door before entering. Warning Ed was just a good idea. The kid was too jumpy by far; not that Maes blamed him. Ed had gone through enough to make him edgy, and if everything in the past few months hadn’t pushed him over the edge, it had to be from sheer strength of will.

Not hearing anything, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. “You didn’t miss much for dinner. Victoria’s pretty excited to be working with you, though. I think Opal’s pleased you’re helping her with her research.” He didn’t add that it freed Opal up to do her own research. Ed was clever enough to figure that out, even if he hadn’t sat in on every one of the meetings. Maes wasn’t sure he wanted Ed in on some of them. Opal hadn’t quite forgiven him for his quick response back at the Armstrong mansion, when he’d asked exactly what the plans were. None of the Armstrongs – barring Alex Louis – had liked the idea of Ed staying out of those plans, but Maes was not going to let someone else use Ed like they wanted, even if it was for the betterment of Amestris.

“Ed?” Maes looked around the room. There was a faint, lingering odor in the air, one that made him wrinkle his nose. “Ed, were you sick again?” He hated asking but the kid had been throwing up so much, it wasn’t any wonder his clothes were hanging off him. Stress, Maes thought, remembering all too well Roy’s stories of Ishbal and his reaction to telling those stories. Not to mention his attempts to bring those doctors back to life. Getting Roy out of that rut had been difficult, at best. “Ed?” Maes rapped his knuckles against the bathroom door, trying the knob. When the door opened, Maes inhaled sharply. Ed locked himself into rooms now, he didn’t leave anyone easy access. Which meant – “Ed?” He had to look but the only thing remaining behind in the bath was a wet spot on the sink.

Ed’s suitcase was missing, too, and his few articles of clothing. Maes bit back a curse, heading for the door. Something rattled across the floor and he stopped, reaching down to grab the ball of paper. There hadn’t been a paper in the room earlier and Maes felt his stomach drop as he spread it out, seeing the headlines.

“Well, fuck.”

He guessed he was going to Lior.

* * *


	38. Chapter 38

* * *

“Tell me, Roy Mustang, exactly what you’ve got planned.”

He blinked, the only actual surprise he allowed himself at the order from Izumi Curtis. “I’m afraid I don’t know - ”

“Oh, cut the crap,” she snapped, “you aren’t going to hide out here in Rush Valley forever. It’s a waste of your talents, and even I know that, if I hate the fact that you were a dog of the military, and fought in Ishbal.” Her mouth turned down. “But you’re helping my stupid apprentice, and Winry, so I guess there has to be good in you somewhere.”

“Thank you,” Roy got out before she went on.

“But, if you think I’d believe you’re not going to do something, that you aren’t working an angle, you’re wrong.” Izumi folded her arms, glaring at him, and Roy was glad he’d become almost immune to Riza’s glowers, as this woman’s were almost scarier. “So, tell me what it is.” 

“Perhaps we should save this for later,” Roy said, wanting to buy himself a little bit of time. 

Eyes narrowing, Izumi nodded once curtly. “All right. I expect this to happen shortly, ‘Shen’.” 

“Tonight. After supper,” Roy promised. And hoped Riza didn’t skin him alive for tipping their hand so early in the game. He figured he’d better explain it to her sooner rather than later, otherwise, he’d be in even hotter water. “Damn it.” 

* * *

“Next stop, Central City!” the conductor shouted, “Central City. Prepare to disembark in Central City!” 

Ed jerked awake at the shout, a cold sweat breaking out over him. He glanced around, not seeing anyone paying any attention to a red-haired kid. Stretching his arms over his head, he grabbed his suitcase, preparing to leave the passenger car when the train pulled into the station. It was about another twenty minutes before the train was actually stopped next to the platform, and Ed waited for some of the older passengers to leave the train first. He climbed down the steps, his boots clattering on the concrete platform. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to begin walking toward the soldiers, absently watching the passengers. Ed stopped in front of them, making himself smile. Testing the color of his hair as a disguise. “Can you tell me with the military headquarters are?” 

They looked down at him, and Ed hoped he looked innocent enough, and not as terrified as he felt. “You’re too little to sign up for the military,” the taller man said, laughing. 

Ed kept his hands from making fists, but it was a real effort. “Is that so,” he said through gritted teeth. “Well, what if I just wanna see where my dad used to work, before he died?” 

“Oh, sorry, kid.” The taller soldier gave him a sheepish look. “Yeah, you can just take the street outside the station, here, north, and follow it for about twenty blocks, then turn east, and you’ll run into the headquarters.” He pursed his mouth then, and reached into his pocket. “Here.” He gave Ed a handful of cenz. “Take that and get a cab.” 

Surprised, Ed gaped at the money, then up at the soldier. “Thanks, sir,” he said, and hurried off before the soldier could change his mind. He managed to make it out of the station, down the stairs, and out onto the street before he lost control of his mouth, though he didn’t scream like he would’ve not so long ago. “Short,” he growled under his breath. “Damn it. I’m not.” Swallowing down the rest of it, Ed spotted a cab and made his way to it. Opening the door, he said, “Can you take me to the military headquarters?” 

The driver stared at him in the rearview mirror like he had two heads or something. Tugging his hat down lower on his head, he said, “Sure, kid, wherever. Long as you’ve got money to pay.”

“I’ve got almost a thousand cenz.” He showed the cabby the handful of money. 

His moustache twitched. “All right, kid, military HQ it is.” He started the car. “Sit back and I’ll take you there.” 

Ed leaned back in the seat, watching out the window as the streets passed by. Halfway to the headquarters, he changed his mind. “Can you take me to the military cemetery, instead?” 

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror. “You’re the boss,” he said, and turned at the next corner. 

The drive took them through some residential neighborhoods, and Ed felt a slight pang when he saw a street sign for Mayflower Street. Damn it, Hughes, he thought, you should figure out a way to go home to your wife and child. 

_And you? Are you going to find a way to go home to your brother and Winry?_

He shook his head, trying to blot out the question. “Shut up,” he mouthed. 

The snake subsided with a chuckle, and Ed bit his lower lip, looking out the window again. When manicured lawns gave way to a high, brick wall, he knew they were close and readied himself to leave the cab. 

“Do you need me to wait?” the driver asked. 

“No, I…I can walk. Thanks, though.” Ed paid the driver, then watched the car drive off. He waited a few minutes before turning to the open gate. Refreshing his grip on his suitcase, he started up the walk and through the entrance, a weird sensation spinning through his gut at the idea of visiting his own tombstone. 

The sun burned down on the top of his head. His eyes stung behind his glasses. Ed ignored both to make his way along the pathways. A groundskeeper directed him toward the right area of the cemetery, and, when Ed finally reached the place where his tombstone stood, there was already someone there. 

He paused, straightening automatically, then taking a surreptitious look around. Who knew if the military was guarding his gravestone, and it wasn’t like he could actually ask. He might’ve destroyed Envy, Lust and Gluttony, but that didn’t mean there weren’t more homunculi around, just waiting. 

_Why would they want you?_

That question bothered Ed, too. Why go through the trouble of dragging him out to the western border and throwing him in a brothel? Why not kill him? They’d tried to obliterate him by telling everyone who cared about him he was dead, but took him and hid him away, instead. Whatever the hell they wanted, they – the military, or maybe just the Fuhrer? – needed him alive. The fact he’d escaped probably played holy hell with whatever their plans were, which made Ed think he was probably stupid, actually leaving the train station, not to mention walking around the cemetery, near his supposed grave. 

Taking a deep breath, he continued along toward it, angling so he could try to see who was visiting the stone. It was a tall man, with broad shoulders and dark hair. Ed caught sight of a beard, which meant it wasn’t anyone he recognized – the Fuhrer just had a moustache, and was taller and broader, both. Ed still took his time on the approach, not wanting to appear hesitant, but also not wanting to interrupt this guy standing in front of his grave. Who the hell was it, anyway? Why would a stranger be standing there? Was he waiting to see if someone showed up? Al or Winry? Or even him? 

The snake remained silent while Ed chewed his lower lip, finally deciding not to wait any longer. He stepped up to the tombstone, reading over the words and numbers that described his life in ways the military could understand. The man shifted sideways, allowing Ed a chance to stand almost directly in front of the grave. Words failed him at what he felt, standing here. 

The man next to him cleared his throat, startling Ed. He shot a wide-eyed glance toward the man, who said, “I knew him. Ed, I mean.” 

He snapped his mouth closed. “Uh.” 

“Not well, I mean, it’s been years.” The man shook his head. “A really long time.” 

Swallowing, Ed managed to strangle out, “Oh, really?” 

He smiled, facing Ed. “Yeah. We grew up in the same little town, a little sheep-farming community, Rezembool.” Smile fading, he shook his head. “Now Ed’s whole family is gone.” 

Coughing, Ed thumped his fist into his chest a couple of times. “‘Zat so?” 

“His mother died, his father disappeared – so did his brother. The family that took care of the brothers, well, they’re gone, too.” He lowered his head so his bearded chin touched his chest. “They were good people, all of them.” 

So, he knew about Pinako. And he had that faint Rezembool drawl. Ed still wasn’t sure, though. The guy seemed familiar in some way, but he wasn’t sure why. And it wasn’t like he could ask, right? He bit his lip to keep from smiling. “So, wha’d your family do in Rezembool? Sheep?” 

A grin split his beard. “No, my family’s into cattle. My little sister, Nelly, she’s probably going to inherit the herd, though. I left Rezembool years ago to continue my studies in medicine. I’m a doctor now.” 

Shit. _Shit._ He was that Todd brat, the one who’d been so mean to him when they were kids. A couple of years older – no wonder he didn’t recognize the man; Michael Todd left Rezembool a long time ago. Ed remembered all too well Michael’d been the first of the kids to tease Winry about her parents dying in Ishbal, and he’d jumped him over it. Being bigger, older, and stronger, Michael’d beaten him into the ground. Winry, though, she’d been so damned smart. She’d figured out a way to get Michael and the older guys back using a rotten pumpkin and a catapult she’d designed and they’d all built together, her, Al and him. Pinako hadn’t even scolded them, she’d been laughing too hard. 

Todd continued, “I can’t really do anything about it, what happened. But I wanted to pay my respects.” He nodded at the flowers on the grave. 

“Uh, me, too,” Ed muttered. He tucked his hands and his suitcase behind his back.

“I guess I should let you get to it, then,” Todd said. He nodded at Ed as he walked away. 

Ed glanced back at him, frowning. A doctor? He remembered Todd being sent away to go to school, vaguely, but not the reason why. Shaking off the thought to follow Todd, Ed turned his attention back to the white marble in front of him. Todd had left behind a bouquet of tulips, bleeding red onto the grass from their paper sheaf. Setting down the suitcase, Ed snorted, rubbing a hand over his hair and thoroughly messing it up. He squatted in front of the stone, leaning his elbows on his knees. “So, this is your life, huh? Cut and dried.” Nothing about his mom, his brother, just the years of his birth and ‘death’, his rank and his name. 

Standing up, Ed stretched his arms over his head and cracked his spine. He used that motion to look around, making sure there wasn’t anyone nearby. He shouldn’t do this, he knew he shouldn’t. _You’re going to get caught. Do you want that? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? It’d keep you from your brother._ Ignoring the snake’s voice, Ed pressed his hands together, then touched them to the marble. The change wasn’t immediately evident, but Ed figured someone would notice it eventually. Whistling, he grabbed his suitcase and started walking back toward the cemetery gateway. 

* * * 

Ling sat on the roof of Dominic’s house, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from inside. Ran Fan insisted he stay away while Dominic and Winry worked with her in rehabilitation. He wasn’t sure how Alphonse and Paninya could sit in the shade of the house, playing with the baby, while Ran Fan grunted and whined. He could hear her pain, and it made his hand clench around the hilt of his sword. She should not have had to suffer this way, not due to his foolishness. Just because he felt the strange _ki_ of the Amestrian Fuhrer did not mean he needed to challenge the man. If he hadn’t, if they’d run, Ran Fan might not be going through this agonizing procedure. 

“Ling,” Alphonse called, “come down here.” 

Paninya stepped out of the shade to wave at him. “You’re not doing anyone any good sitting up there. Come down and join us.”

He would’ve rather stayed on the roof, but, with a sigh, Ling hopped down. Paninya promptly handed him a basket. “Satella needs some help cleaning vegetables. You have that big knife, you can peel these potatoes, can’t you?”

“This is a sword,” Ling sniffed. “It is not used to peel vegetables!”

“There’s a paring knife in the basket,” Alphonse said helpfully as he dandled the baby on his knee. 

Ling gave him a look. “I am not a scullery maid.” 

“You still can help. It’ll keep you from chewing your nails and taking that sword to the roof.” Paninya grinned when Ling glared at her. “Come on, it’ll take your mind off of what’s happening inside.” 

Huffing, Ling moved aside the potatoes to find the knife. He studied it as if it was a snake that might bite him, finally taking the handle and a potato. He only cut his thumb once while peeling the tubers, and considered that an accomplishment. The potatoes finished, he stretched, shaking his arms. Glancing around, he realized that while he was peeling, Alphonse and Paninya had disappeared with the baby. The sounds within the house were low now, comfortable and comforting. Making a face at the basket of peeled potatoes, Ling realized they’d done their duty. With a sigh, he picked up the basket and carried into the house. 

It was cooler inside than out, the thick walls of the home protecting it from the midday sun. Satella nursed her son at the table, Paninya, Winry and Ran Fan sitting with her, while Alphonse sat, lotus-fashion, on the floor, his eyes closed as Winry ran her fingers through his hair. Ling could hear Dominic and his son somewhere in the house but didn’t track them down, instead, he poured the potatoes in the sink and ran water on them. Just because he wasn’t a scullery maid didn’t mean he wasn’t aware of the next step to clean vegetables. He’d needed to know that when he and Ran Fan were crossing the desert, not to mention, hanging around the kitchen when he was little meant he could cadge snacks out of the cooks – and learn something about how to prepare food at the same time. Just because he was a prince didn’t necessarily mean he shouldn’t know something about where his meals came from and the work put into them. 

“How are you, Ran Fan?” he asked, returning to the others. 

“I am fine, my lord,” she said, her eyes lowered and tilted away from him, as was the proper way of addressing him, whether he preferred it or not. Her grandfather scolded him to his face, as if he was Ling’s grandfather, too, but Fuu wasn’t here in Amestris. He hadn’t known about their decision before they’d run away from Xing. Ling didn’t relish Fuu’s reaction when they did return home, either, but Ling was determined to protect his people. The Yao clan was strong, but not so strong as to be able to take the throne without some sort of – how did the Amestrian’s say it? ‘Ace in the hole’? 

“She’s doing really well,” Winry said brightly, and Ling turned his attention to her. “Even if she is pushing herself too hard.” 

“My place is at my prince’s side,” Ran Fan said, frowning at Winry. 

“Yeah, but if you over extend yourself in your therapy, you’ll just wind up hurting yourself more. There’s a reason we say it takes at least two years to become skilled at using your automail.” 

“Brother did it in a year,” Alphonse chimed in, then yipped when Winry thumped his head with her middle finger. “Ow!”

“Your brother was an idiot,” Winry told him tartly. 

Ling didn’t react to that, though he noticed Ran Fan’s gaze dart to him. They shared the secret between them, even as silence stretched through the room for a little bit, at least until the baby whined and yawned, pulling away from his mother’s breast. 

“I think someone needs a nap,” Satella said, getting up. 

“I’ll start cutting the potatoes,” Winry offered. “Paninya can help,” she added, giving the girl a look. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll help.” She got up, stretching her limbs, though only one was made of flesh, and Ling couldn’t help but admire the fluidity of her movements, despite how much of her was made of metal. 

Alphonse cleared his throat and Ling glanced his way. “Yes?”

“Staring’s rude,” Alphonse said, his cheeks tinged pink. 

“Mm.” Ling grinned at him, giving him a frankly honest stare in return and watching the young man blush even brighter. Amestrians were such…interesting people. 

* * *

Izumi settled at the table across from Mustang. His features seemed so easily disguised with the change in his hair style and the way the Rush Valley sun had darkened his visible skin. ‘Yao Shen’ fit into Rush Valley as a tea merchant, and his lovely, Amestrian wife, ‘Carol’. Carol’s sister, ‘Twilla’, their cousin, ‘Dan’. All a very pretty lie. 

“So,” she said, “explain what you’re doing.” 

Roy spread his hands as Riza brought them all cups of tea – some sort of blend that reminded Izumi of the spices they used to cure meat in the smokehouse. She noticed that both ‘Shen’ and ‘Carol’ drank their tea black, with no sweetener, and she did the same, though Sig added sugar to his after taking a sniff of it. She smiled inwardly at her husband and how cute he was, then turned her attention back to Mustang. “So?”

“We’re going to try to change the government,” he said, after a judicious sip of his tea.

“Two ex-soldiers? And two children?” Izumi raised her eyebrows, not quite politely. 

“Sometimes, it doesn’t take much to change the world. Or at least a small part of it.” 

“Amestris isn’t that small,” Sig reminded and Roy nodded.

“You’re right, but we’re not really acting alone. I – we – have others willing to help, and within this valley, I see people who don’t like the way this government is leading us. If they knew of what happened to Edward.” 

Izumi didn’t let him get that far, thumping her hand on the table hard enough to make the cups rattle. “Ed didn’t die to become a martyr for your cause.” 

Roy met her gaze levelly. “No. He didn’t. But I think, if given the choice, he would agree that using his death to spur on people who might otherwise be on the fence might not be a bad idea.” 

“He died in service to Amestris,” Riza said, “like so many other soldiers. All of their lives, and their deaths, are important. But if the people understand why they had to die,” her voice faded and she glanced sideways at Roy.

“You might have riots on your hands. Those are hard to control,” Sig said. He tasted his tea again and, from the flicker in his eyes, Izumi wondered if he’d be asking for ‘Yao’ to give them a packet to take home with them. 

“Which is why we’d want to do this carefully. We need time to build up an effective force – as you said, four of us aren’t enough to take on an entire country.” Smiling faintly, Roy said, “We do have a plan. Which is why Winry’s learning how to shoot, and Alphonse is continuing his training in alchemy, even though I’m sure he’s far surpassed my knowledge already.” 

Izumi asked slowly, “You want to send them into the front lines?”

Roy and Riza exchanged a look. “No,” he replied, “I don’t want them there. But I must make use of what opportunities have been offered to me.” 

Now it was time for her to glance at Sig. His mouth twitched, and she blinked in response. “They’ve got their whole lives ahead of them.” 

“So did so many of the soldiers who’ve died for Amestris,” Riza said. Roy’s expression went distant, obviously thinking of some of those soldiers, maybe one or two specifically. Ed. 

“I want to take Al with me when I leave,” Izumi said. “There are things I can teach him.” Sig grunted and she amended her statement. “Things we can both teach him. And there is definitely a faction in Dublith that is interested in the overthrow of the current government.” 

“That,” Roy said slowly, “might be for the best.” His eyes drifted sideways – recalling something, or searching for a thought in his memory, Izumi knew. “Edward never mentioned you to the military. Winry was only mentioned due to being his mechanic. No one should be looking for Alphonse that far south.” 

“And we’re close enough that, should anything happen, well, it’s a relatively short train trip away,” Izumi said. 

Roy gave her a short, sharp nod. “Agreed.” 

“He should also learn additional combat tactics,” Riza argued. “He and Winry both need lessons in shooting.” 

“Perhaps we should have an exchange,” Roy said thoughtfully. “Alphonse here for three months, and with you for three months.” 

Sig rumbled softly, “Maybe you should talk to Al and Winry, first, before you make plans about how their lives are going to be changed. Again.” 

Roy blinked, as if that hadn’t even occurred to him, the fallacy of being a military man, perhaps, and expecting people to simply follow his orders. “They are aware of these plans. Riza and I have discussed them in the past.” 

“Winry’s doing well with her target practice,” Riza said, and a hint of pride shone in her voice. As Izumi recalled, Winry was very good at targeting, if Ed’s bitching about her throwing arm was any indication. 

“Shooting at targets is different than shooting at actual, living beings,” Sig said, and Riza’s gaze went to him. 

“Which is why Winry doesn’t belong on the front lines,. She is too,” Riza hesitated, then went on, “kind. And while she would probably do anything to protect Alphonse, and he her, I’m not sure either of them would be willing to take a life. I want them to be able to protect themselves, though, and have the ability to do so if necessary. Additionally, the Xingese seem very willing to keep Winry safe.” Her brow furrowed for a split second. “Though I’m not sure that we will be able to honor the payment the prince requested.” 

“Is that so?” Izumi leaned across the table. “What kind of payment?” 

“One I have agreed to pay,” Roy said, as if that was that, and Izumi felt a sharp flash of annoyance at his wanting to keep his secrets. 

“You could tell us what that payment is,” Sig said, “in case anything happens. We may be the ones who might need to repay the prince.” 

Neither soldier reacted to that comment, at least, not in any way that Izumi could discern. She decided that going up against either of them in any kind of a fight wasn’t something she wanted to do, if she could help it. Accustomed to observing her opponents and being able to judge from their expressions and body language what their next actions would be, she thought it would be difficult to read what ‘Shen’ and ‘Carol’ might do next. It would make it hard on the people they were fighting against, and give them an edge they’d need. Izumi smiled, a little too broadly. “All right, keep your secrets. But remember, allies are the ones you need to share things with, rather than keeping them in the dark.”

Roy answered her with a dangerous smirk. “I’ll remember that, Mrs. Curtis, believe me.” 

* * *


End file.
